THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

Professor  Henry  J.  Quayle 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mrs  Fannie  Q.  Paul 

Mrs  Annie  Q.  Hadley 

Mrs  Elizabeth  0.  Flowers 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

FREDERICK  TOWNSEND  MARTIN 


.  /'//•//*•>/<•/,•    .  /f/f/,.tr  >,,/  .     //ff'r////. 


THINGS  I  REMEMBER 


BY 

FREDERICK  TOWNSEND   MARTIN 


WITH  EIGHT  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

MCMXIIl 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I 

My  ancestors:  The  overcrowded  Mayflower:  The 
Townshends:  Henry  Townshend  protects  the 
Quakers:  He  is  imprisoned:  Life  in  the  New 
World:  My  father:  Henry  Hull  Martin:  His 
early  struggles:  A  devoted  son:  The  story  of  a 
shawl:  Courtship  and  marriage:  A  leading  ques- 
tion: Brains  versus  dollars:  My  birth:  Early  im- 
pressions: My  grandmother:  Mrs.  Townshend: 
The  end  of  the  passage:  An  enchanted  room: 
The  romance  of  history:  A  honeymoon  trip: 
My  grandmother's  voyage  up  the  Hudson:  A 
romantic  episode:  The  great  chain:  Rip  Van 
Winkle  land:  Home  at  last:  My  grandmother's 
recollections  of  Old  New  York :  A  cultured  circle : 
Terpsichore  not  Tango:  How  society  amused 
itself:  Roderick  Mclntosh:  "A  hundred  pipers  an' 
a',  an'  a'  " :  My  grandmother  Martin :  A  Puritan 
of  Puritans:  Her  methods:  I  resent  her  interfer- 
ence :  My  own  territory :  Nemesis  at  the  window : 
A  whipping  Pp.  25-47 

6 


6  CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   II 

My  father:  His  theories:  "Lead  us  not  into 
temptation":  My  mother,  her  gentle  influence: 
Pre-natal  conditions:  Her  sympathy:  "Just  a 
mother  with  a  mother's  heart":  Living  books: 
My  accident:  A  long  convalescence:  My  hero: 
Uncle  Frederick  and  the  butler's  son:  An  expedi- 
tion to  California:  The  Argonauts:  El  Dorado: 
Misfortune  dogs  my  uncle's  footsteps:  The  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea:  The  Nugget:  A  dreamer  of 
dreams:  New  York:  I  visit  the  Battery:  "They 
that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships":  I  go  to  Union 
College:  Life  in  Albany:  The  old  Schuyler  Man- 
sion: Family  mirth-makers:  A  funeral  at  Middle- 
town:  A  recipe  to  stop  nose-bleeding:  A  chapter 
of  accidents:  My  uncle's  anger:  From  bad  to 
worse:  After  the  funeral:  My  uncle's  ultimatum: 
Franklin  Townsend :  His  violin :  The  poodle  that 
knew  the  time:  The  responsibilities  of  wealth: 
A  man  of  means :  Mr.  Townsend  and  the  heiress : 
How  General  Howard  James  drilled  his  servants : 
A  troop  of  Amazons:  The  simple  life:  A  "good 
atmosphere" :  My  first  play :  Death  of  my  mother : 
"It  is  deep  happiness  to  die,  yet  live  in  love's  dear 
memory"  Pp.  48-69 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   III 

My  brother's  marriage:  Miss  Cornelia  Sherman: 
I  look  out  of  the  window:  A  pretty  picture: 
Changes :  From  hotel  to  convent :  Sharon  Springs : 
I  meet  Ward  McAllister:  A  serenade:  I  visit 
New  York:  Old  landmarks:  Mrs.  Ronalds:  Her 
famous  costume  ball:  Music:  The  illuminated 
harp:  The  triumph  of  electricity:  "Age  cannot 
wither  nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety": 
Life  in  Albany :  Lord  Palmerston  and  the  beggar : 
I  am  elected  President  of  the  Young  Men's  Asso- 
ciation: A  reception:  No  admittance  for  my 
father:  My  first  speech:  Mrs.  Moulton  sings  at 
Albany:  A  favourite  at  the  Tuileries:  Charlotte 
Cushman:  I  recall  her  first  triumph:  The  dead 
President's  progress  Pp.  70-90 


CHAPTER  IV 

Newport  in  the  days  of  my  youth:  The  present 
town  of  palaces:  Mrs.  Paran  Stevens:  A  great 
social  leader:  Her  sister  Miss  Fanny  Reed:  Sung 
into  society:  A  Patti  of  the  salons:  A  concert 
during  the  war:  Mrs.  Stevens  and  Mr.  Travers: 
"Cold  tea,  hot  Apollinaris,  and  bad  music":  The 
Griswold  Grays:  An  ideal  cottage:  Two  dinners: 


8  CONTENTS 

Beauty  and  brains:  The  fountain:  Why  the  ceil- 
ing fell  down:  Peter  Marie:  A  gentleman  of  the 
old  school:  His  poetical  tendencies:  Invitations 
in  verse:  Newport's  vanished  charm:  Belle  Vue 
Avenue  of  to-day:  Motors  and  millionaires: 
Artificiality  ever  present:  A  trip  to  Europe:  My 
dreams  are  realized:  The  old  Russia:  Fourteen 
days  at  sea:  We  arrive  in  London:  The  State 
entry  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Edinburgh:  A 
snowy  reception:  I  see  Queen  Victoria:  Her 
strength  of  character:  On  the  balcony  of  Buck- 
ingham Palace:  Prince  Eddy  and  Prince  George: 
Alone  in  London:  Another  imposing  sight:  The 
funeral  of  Napoleon  III:  All  is  vanity:  The 
Prince  Imperial:  A  gallant  figure:  A  procession 
of  Imperialists :  Shattered  hopes :  One  whom  death 
has  forgotten :  The  Empress  Eugenie :  Vive  1'Em- 
pereur :  We  return  to  London :  I  write  an  account 
of  our  experiences:  The  lost  art  of  letter  writing: 
The  cable  saves  a  sheet  of  note-paper  Pp.  91-109 


CHAPTER   V 

Paris:  Memories  of  Malmaison:  Two  bad  Queens: 
La  Grande  Duchesse:  Fair  Sinners:  A  clergyman's 
daughter:  My  compatriots:  Mrs.  Moore:  Mrs. 
Ayers  defies  Time:  A  salon  at  seventy:  The 


CONTENTS  9 

Baronne  de  la  Selliere:  Emma  Eames:  I  meet 
Sargent :  Bonnet  and  Carolus  Duran :  Rodin :  His 
personality:  The  tragic  eyes  of  Madame  X:  I 
hear  her  story:  A  callous  mother:  Society  is 
shocked:  Miss  Reed:  "The  finder  of  stars": 
Sybil  Saunderson:  She  sings  to  Massenet:  Her 
success:  She  introduces  Mary  Garden  to  Miss 
Reed:  A  woman  of  temperament:  Madame 
Melba:  The  meaning  of  work:  Melba  memories: 
A  cake-walk  at  Palm  Beach :  Alone  in  New  York : 
Ministers  and  their  wives:  The  right  people: 
How  Mrs.  Henry  White  separated  the  sheep  from 
the  goats:  Mrs.  Whitelaw  Reid:  General  Porter: 
The  McCormicks:  Mr.  Goodrich  and  Loie  Fuller 

Pp.  110-134 


CHAPTER   VI 

Victor  Hugo's  funeral :  Under  the  Arc  de  Triomphe : 
Severe  simplicity:  A  poet's  progress:  The  heart 
of  the  people:  I  recall  another  funeral:  The 
King  of  Hanover:  "The  divinity  which  doth 
hedge  a  king" :  Paris  as  a  spectacular  background : 
My  apartment:  My  hobby:  A  man  of  peace:  I 
give  a  party  in  the  Bois :  Cleo  de  Merode :  Flaming 
June:  A  long  wait:  Cleo  appears:  Why  she  was 
late:  The  ordeal  by  sunlight:  Was  she  afraid  of 


10  CONTENTS 

freckles?:  The  Gallic  temperament:  Mrs.  Potter 
Palmer :  A  champion  of  women :  The  business  ca- 
pacity of  the  American  woman :  "Do  it  yourself" : 
The  Duchesse  de  Chaulne:  "Dook  or  no  dook": 
Mrs.  Campbell's  common-sense:  Vanished  faces: 
"One  must  have  courage":  Rome  and  the  Popes: 
Pius  IX  questions  me  about  America:  "Au  Re- 
voir":  My  audience  with  Leo  XIII:  A  dignified 
Pope:  "Are  you  of  my  faith?":  I  explain  that  I  am 
anxious  to  receive  the  blessing  of  a  good  man:  I 
see  Pius  X:  His  extreme  simplicity:  I  am  pre- 
sented at  the  Quirinal:  Queen  Margherita:  Her 
charm:  "The  Pearl  of  Savoy":  Social  Life  in 
Rome:  I  meet  Madame  Ristori:  Talks  over  the 
tea-cups:  Ristori  tells  me  about  her  meeting  with 
Queen  Isabella  of  Spain:  "Anything  you  like  to 
ask  is  granted" :  "The  life  of  a  poor  man" :  Isabella 
keeps  her  promise:  F.  Marion  Crawford:  "A 
Cigarette  Maker's  Romance"  Pp.  135-152 


CHAPTER   VII 

Looking  backward:  London  in  the  seventies: 
The  growth  of  hotel  life :  Clubland :  The  border 
line :  The  repose  of  society :  Modern  wroman :  Suc- 
cessful sinners:  Vows  sometimes  made  to  be 
broken :  The  season :  Then  and  now :  The  day  of 


CONTENTS  11 

the  automobile:  Church  versus  car:  The  three 
arbiters  of  fashion:  The  Mahlon  Sands':  Mrs. 
Sands'  friendship  with  the  late  King:  A  cold  din- 
ner: At  Waddesdon  Manor:  A  house-warming: 
Interesting  visitors:  I  talk  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales:  His  visit  to  America:  The  Souvenir 
Cigar:  H.R.H.  is  amused:  His  dislike  of  Ameri- 
can men:  His  criticism  of  adverse  criticism:  The 
late  King's  ideas  of  dignity:  Where  fools  rush  in: 
The  aspirant's  downfall:  The  Rothschilds:  How 
they  purchased  pictures:  Miss  Alice  Rothschild: 
Tears  have  their  uses:  I  meet  Mr.  Gladstone:  His 
opinion  of  the  masses:  Their  ultimate  power: 
New  ideas:  How  Mr.  Gladstone  defied  time:  The 
cobwebs  of  the  Old  Country:  The  power  of  the 
Press:  Houses  and  their  occupants:  What  the 
supersensitive  experience:  Death  of  Mahlon 
Sands:  His  talents:  A  witty  answer:  His  accident: 
"Better  death  than  life  without  thee" :  A  last  in- 
terview with  Mrs.  Sands:  Her  sudden  end:  "Ills 
have  no  weight  and  tears  no  bitterness" 

Pp.  153-167 

CHAPTER   VIII 

Cowes:  Pleasant  Recollections:  I  meet  the  late 
King :  The  value  of  royal  anecdotes :  A  reviewer's 
disapproval :  Viscount  de  Stern :  Alexander  Yorke : 


12  CONTENTS 

A  wonderful  mimic :  He  imitates  Queen  Victoria : 
A  summons  at  the  window:  "I'm  a  done  man": 
The  Prince's  command:  "What  will  the  Queen 
say?":  Alec  plays  hymns:  I  meet  Sir  Oscar  Clay- 
ton: A  distinguished  physician:  His  weakness  for 
titles:  "I've  met  seven  Duchesses":  It  is  worry 
that  kills:  Want  of  money  often  the  root  of 
bodily  evil :  Cheques  instead  of  prescriptions :  The 
Prince  comes  to  supper:  The  missing  singers: 
H.R.H.  consoles  Stern:  "A  Feast  of  Lanterns": 
An  English  peerage  for  £70,000:  Lord  Wands- 
worth  :  An  election  story :  Mrs.  Mackay  at  Cowes : 
Her  marvellous  jewels:  Dancing  the  "Boston": 
Lady  Henry  Lennox:  What  constitutes  enjoy- 
ment?: Cowes  recalls  Cannes:  The  Earthquake: 
The  late  King  at  Cannes:  Mrs.  Campbell  of 
Craigie:  "Lend  me  your  valet":  He  pours  the 
coffee  over  the  cloth:  H.R.H.'s  kindness:  Adele 
Grant  and  Lord  Cairns:  Monte  Carlo:  Gambling 
resorts  in  the  sixties:  The  four  friends:  Garcia: 
His  system:  The  Prince  and  the  gambler:  Dis- 
reputable company:  Where  did  the  Duchesses 
come  in?:  The  clergyman  and  his  daughters: 
Playing  by  proxy:  Twice  lucky:  Why  "twenty- 
three"  was  wrong  Pp.  168-186 


CONTENTS  13 

CHAPTER   IX 

My  first  meet:  Neville  Holt:  Lady  Clarendon: 
A  visit  to  Berkeley  Castle:  Where  King  Edward 
II  was  murdered:  Old-fashioned  formality  at 
Berkeley  Castle:  Harry  Sands  does  not  put  in  an 
appearance  at  breakfast:  I  explain  the  reason: 
House  or  hotel:  A  peeress  of  the  old  regime: 
Morning  and  evening  prayers  at  Lady  Galway's: 
Careless  domesticity:  The  woman  who  didn't 
know  her  own  house:  The  late  Lady  Holland:  I 
take  tea  with  her:  A  family  spectre:  Lowther 
Lodge:  Singleton:  A  tragic  visit:  Sudden  death 
of  Lord  Swansea :  A  night  of  terror :  I  see  Coombe 
Abbey  for  the  first  time:  Tranby  Croft:  Mrs. 
Arthur  Wilson's  kindness:  Her  superstition:  The 
opal  necklace:  Jewels  and  their  wearers:  Mrs. 
Bradley  Martin  acquires  some  of  the  French 
Crown  Jewels:  Marie  Antoinette's  necklace:  "A 
band  of  blood":  The  story  of  the  missing  pendant: 
The  butler's  secret:  A  thief  in  the  night:  The 
pearl  snatcher:  Andrew  Carnegie  vetoes  the  wear- 
ing of  jewels:  A  relic  of  barbarism:  Simplicity 
versus  Sapphires :  The  late  Duchess  of  Devonshire : 
Her  love  of  money:  A  great  social  leader:  An 
Ascot  story:  James  R.  Keene  and  the  Duchess: 
A  ladies'  luncheon:  The  best  for  a  debutante: 
"Beauty,  wealth  or  brains?":  The  women's  ver- 


14  CONTENTS 

diet:  I  visit  Cawdor  Castle:  "Not  angles,  but 
angels":  From  Cawdor  to  Culloden:  Moy  Hall: 
Relics  of  Prince  Charlie:  King  George  V  praises 
the  shooting:  Charlcote:  The  woods:  The  stately 
homes  of  England :  Sacred  trusts :  The  death-duties 
which  never  leave  us:  I  must  not  moralize:  Mrs. 
Stuyvesant  Fish  prevents  me  from  sermonizing 

Pp.  187-206 

CHAPTER   X 

The  advent  of  the  American  woman  in  English 
society:  How  the  Invasion  came  about:  Miss  Je- 
rome becomes  Lady  Randolph  Churchill:  The 
Stevens- Paget  alliance:  The  American  heiress  in 
fiction:  An  impossible  character:  The  Girl  from 
the  Golden  West:  Then  and  now:  The  education 
of  an  heiress:  A  strenuous  life:  The  Invasion 
viewed  with  alarm  by  Society:  A  new  influence: 
The  American's  progress :  The  heiress  realizes  her 
own  value:  The  open-handed  daughters  of  Lib- 
erty: The  uses  of  advertisement:  A  good  invest- 
ment: Lady  Paget:  The  belle  of  Newport:  An 
ambitious  mother:  A  season  in  London:  The  late 
King  as  a  matchmaker:  Mr.  Paget  proposes:  He 
is  refused:  He  proposes  a  second  time:  Minnie 
Stevens  becomes  Mrs.  Paget:  A  leading  hostess: 
Lady  Paget's  personality :  Her  pluck :  Seven  opera- 


CONTENTS  15 

tions!:  A  society  woman's  wish:  Helen  Beckwith: 
Her  marriage  with  the  Hon.  Dudley  Leigh: 
"Once  a  friend,  always  a  friend":  Lady  Naylor- 
Leyland:  Her  beauty:  Goethe's  Margaret:  How 
American  women  adapt  themselves  to  new  condi- 
tions: Are  they  ever  home-sick?:  Mrs.  George 
Keppel  recognizes  American  influence :  The  strong- 
hold of  dukedom:  Lesser  lights:  The  youngest 
American  brides:  Consuelo  Duchess  of  Manches- 
ter :  A  penniless  girl :  Her  poverty :  She  entertains 
the  late  King  at  dinner:  Where  the  dishes  came 
from:  Mrs.  Ronalds:  The  story  of  the  necklace: 
Madame  Waddington :  She  mixes  with  the  crowd : 
A  happy  answer:  The  late  Lady  Curzon:  Her 
role  at  Newport:  A  great  lady  Pp.  207-224 


CHAPTER   XI 

William  Gillett:  The  Bachelors' Club:  The  Clear- 
ing House  System:  Merit  is  passed  over:  Mr. 
Gillett's  radium  parties:  Charles  Dalison:  A 
beau  of  the  seventies:  The  end  of  a  worldly  life: 
The  Whitelaw  Reids:  A  hospitable  ambassador: 
Mr.  Choate:  His  wit:  "Just  start  cackling, 
madam":  The  late  Bradley  Martin  and  his  con- 
nection with  Balmacaan:  My  brother  rents  Lake- 
field:  The  ghost  there:  Bradley  takes  over  Bal- 


16  CONTENTS 

macaan  from  Henry  Allsop:  A  beautiful  home: 
The  shores  of  Loch  Ness :  Our  love  for  Scotland : 
The  joy  of  life:  Another  ghost:  The  spectral 
coach:  Lord  Lovat's  funeral:  Unlimited  whisky: 
A  two-mile  walk:  Lady  Burton  and  the  late  King: 
"One  thing  needful":  Edward  VII  decorates  Lord 
Brougham's  butler:  Our  theatrical  and  literary 
neighbours:  Sir  Henry  Irving:  The  Terrys:  Mrs. 
Lewis  lets  her  cottage  to  Barrie:  Sir  James  and 
the  donkey:  His  love  of  children:  His  retiring 
disposition:  Memories  of  Bradley:  The  best  of 
brothers:  Speaking  in  public:  I  go  down  to  the 
East  End :  An  audience  at  Whitechapel  Pp.  225-240 


CHAPTER   XII 

The  lure  of  travel:  Its  value  as  an  education:  A 
six  months'  tour  or  six  years  at  college?:  My 
first  glimpse  of  Spain:  Tarifa:  A  Moorish  hill 
town:  The  old  fortress:  A  Spartan  father:  By 
moonlight  to  Begar:  Cleanly  Cadiz:  Madrid: 
The  usual  sight-seeing:  June  in  Norway:  Homely 
incidents:  Cold  water  is  thrown  on  Howard's 
efforts  to  explain:  Towels  at  last  are  forthcom- 
ing: The  land  of  untrodden  ways:  Trippers  in 
Switzerland:  A  walking  tour  in  the  Tyrol:  A 
peaceful  spot:  "Surely  we  must  be  very  near 


CONTENTS  17 

Heaven?":  "You  must  climb  higher":  I  am  mis- 
taken for  an  Archduke:  Wasted  ammunition: 
We  journey  to  the  Holy  Land:  Illness  at  Bey- 
rout:  The  last  Emperor  of  Brazil  comes  to  see 
me:  The  sight  which  gave  me  life:  "The  Stars 
and  Stripes" :  Round  the  world  with  Harry  Sands : 
San  Francisco:  The  Duke  of  Atholl:  Japan:  I 
see  Fusiyama :  The  magic  of  the  East :  We  go  up- 
country:  Then  and  now:  Silent  souvenirs:  The 
fragrance  of  vanished  summers:  The  Sultan  of 
Singapore:  The  cholera  epidemic  in  Ceylon:  A 
railway  accident  near  Benares:  Bombay:  Sudden 
death  of  Lady  Ferguson:  We  leave  for  Malta: 
In  quarantine  at  Suez:  From  Malta  to  Syracuse: 
A  storm:  Naples:  Back  to  Paris:  The  end  of  the 
journey  Pp.  241-255 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  late  Ward  McAllister:  "The  Four  Hun- 
dred": Restful  Society:  The  old  families:  The 
Queens  of  Sheba:  The  Belmonts:  Their  house  in 
Fifth  Avenue:  The  two  Mrs.  Astors:  Mrs. 
Pierre  Lorillard:  Her  husband:  Tuxedo  Park: 
Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Cruger:  A  great-niece  of 
Washington  Irving:  "Sleepy  Hollow":  A  royal 
exile:  Years  afterwards:  A  fete  champetre:  A 


18  CONTENTS 

French  fancy-dress  ball  in  1828:  The  old  noblesse: 
Mr.  Montant  and  his  ancestors:  A  gentleman  of 
France:  Furniture  from  the  old  Chateau:  A  cos- 
tume ball :  Malibran  as  a  guest :  The  old  Bowling 
Green  Theatre:  Jenny  Lind:  My  friendship  with 
Madame  Nordica:  A  success  of  perseverance: 
Talents  and  temperament :  The  kindest  of  women : 
The  late  General  Grant:  His  judgment:  "Gen- 
tlemen, we  cross  the  Potomac  to-night":  Grant 
and  Lee:  A  contrast:  "Take  back  your  sword": 
Robert  Lee's  request:  A  generous  adversary:  The 
son  who  stood  upon  his  dignity:  "To  dine  and 
sleep  at  Windsor" :  The  little  table :  What  Queen 
Victoria  said:  Out-Heroding  Herod:  Old  Mr. 
Germaine:  His  hobby:  A  taste  for  saving  money: 
Three  deaths:  The  callousness  of  Society:  Ward 
McAllister's  funeral :  Five  out  of  a  hundred ! : 
The  last  music:  Life's  little  ironies:  Malicious 
Fate:  "Man  and  his  littleness  perish,  erased  like 
an  error  and  cancelled"  Pp.  256-270 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Henry  M.  Flagler:  The  maker  of  Florida:  His 
early  struggles:  His  forceful  character:  Henry  B. 
Plant:  An  unsuccessful  rival:  An  interesting  Sun- 


CONTENTS  19 

day:  Three  great  men:  My  mission  in  the  Bow- 
ery: The  stokers'  strike:  On  board  the  Kaiser 
Wilhelm  II:  I  receive  a  note :  What  it  contained : 
The  Bowery  boys  as  stokers:  Women  who  help 
humanity:  Mrs.  William  Sloane  and  her  sisters: 
Mrs.  Stuyvesant  Fish  and  her  opinion  of  me  as  a 
speaker:  The  famous  costume  ball:  Mrs.  Bradley 
Martin's  wish  to  give  an  impetus  to  trade:  A 
storm  of  comment:  The  ball  is  denounced  from 
the  pulpit :  Threatening  letters :  We  are  burlesqued 
on  the  stage:  What  Theodore  Roosevelt  said:  A 
dream  of  loveliness:  Versailles  and  New  York: 

* 

Wonderful  jewels:  Family  heirlooms:  A  touch  of 
barbarism:  The  altar  of  the  Golden  Calf-:  The 
road  to  disillusion:  My  brother  decides  to  live  in 
London:  Lady  Craven:  Lord  Uffington  and  his 
grandmothers:  The  disadvantages  of  the  Embassy 
system:  My  tour  with  Mr.  E.  Clarence  Jones: 
Apathetic  citizens:  Archbishop  Ireland:  A  hostile 
reception  at  Atlanta:  A  Baptist  deputation:  Pre- 
historic cars:  A  cloud  of  petrol:  "Is  this  a  joy 
ride?":  A  dance  at  Louisville:  The  old  Gait 
House:  Southern  belles:  A  curious  custom:  Was 
our  tour  successful?:  My  crusade  against  the  idle 
rich:  Selfish  Society:  "A  traitor  to  my  class": 
My  appreciation  of  the  American  Press:  The 
lighter  side  of  life:  The  love  of  luxury:  Unhappy 
marriages :  The  ideal  union :  The  evils  of  Platonic 


20  CONTENTS 

friendship:  Looking  backward:  Partings  in  our 
family:  The  graves  of  a  household:  The  memory 
of  the  beloved  dead:  My  wish  Pp.  271-292 

INDEX  Pp.  293-297 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Frederick  Townsend  Martin Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


My  Grandmother — Hannah  Townsend     ....  34 

My  Father — Henry  Hull  Martin 50 

My  Brother — Bradley  Martin 70 

A  House  Party  at  Balmacaan 198 

Mr.  William  Gillett  with  Mrs.  Bradley  Martin  and 

Count  Kergorley 226 

Group:  Mr.  Frederick  Townsend  Martin,  Lord 
Leigh,  Mr.  Bradley  Martin,  The  Hon.  Charles 
Harris 236 

Group:  Mr.  Hugh  Warrender,  The  Countess  of 
Craven,  Mr.  Franklin  Otis,  Mr.  Frank  Muri- 
etta,  The  Hon.  Charles  Harris,  and  Mr.  Towns- 
end  Martin  .  246 


THINGS  I  REMEMBER 


CHAPTER   I 

My  ancestors:  The  overcrowded  Mayflower: 
The  Townshends:  Henry  Townshend  protects 
the  Quakers:  He  is  imprisoned:  Life  in  the  New 
World:  My  father:  Henry  Hull  Martin:  His 
early  struggles:  A  devoted  son:  The  story  of  a 
shawl:  Courtship  and  marriage:  A  leading  ques- 
tion: Brains  versus  dollars:  My  birth:  Early  im- 
pressions: My  grandmother:  Mrs.  Townshend: 
The  end  of  the  passage:  An  enchanted  room: 
The  romance  of  history:  A  honeymoon  trip: 
My  grandmother's  voyage  up  the  Hudson:  A 
romantic  episode:  The  great  chain:  Rip  Van 
Winkle  land:  Home  at  last:  My  grandmother's 
recollections  of  Old  New  York :  A  cultured  circle : 
Terpsichore  not  Tango:  How  society  amused 
itself :  Roderick  Mclntosh :  "A  hundred  pipers  an' 
a',  an'  a' " :  My  grandmother  Martin :  A  Puritan 
of  Puritans:  Her  methods:  I  resent  her  interfer- 
ence: My  own  territory:  Nemesis  at  the  window: 
!A  whipping 

MY  ancestors  did  not  sail  to  America  in  that 

overcrowded  vessel  The  Mayflower,  for  it  was 

25 


26         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

not  until  the  year  1665,  when  London  was 
swept  by  the  plague,  that  three  brothers,  John, 
Henry  and  Richard  Townshend  left  England 
to  seek  their  fortunes  in  the  New  World. 
Their  father  had  provided  them  with  sufficient 
means  to  make  their  way  in  the  young  coun- 
try, and  they  were  undaunted  at  the  prospect 
of  being  weeks  at  sea  in  an  old  sailing  ship 
driven  hither  and  thither  at  the  mercy  of  the 
winds  and  waters. 

The  Townshends  left  behind  them  their 
beautiful  home  of  Raynham,  an  estate  which 
had  been  the  property  of  their  progenitors 
since  the  Conquest,  when  William  of  Nor- 
mandy gave  it  to  De  Haville,  one  of  his  cap- 
tains. 

The  family  served  their  sovereigns  well, 
and  Roger  Townshend  was  knighted  during 
the  stirring  times  of  the  Armada.  Horatio 
Townshend  rendered  such  services  to  Charles 
II  that  he  was  raised  to  the  Peerage  in  1661 
under  the  title  of  Baron  Townshend  of  Lynn 
Regis,  and  his  dignities  were  further  in- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         27 

creased  in  1682  when  he  was  made  a  Viscount. 

A  voyage  across  the  Atlantic  does  not  ap- 
pear strange  to  us  now-a-days  when  science  has 
done  so  much  to  save  time  and  trouble,  but 
the  Townshends  must  have  been  heartily  tired 
of  their  slow,  monotonous  passage  long  before 
they  reached  America.  The  brothers  first  set- 
tled at  Oyster  Bay,  then  an  important  ren- 
dezvous for  the  British  fleet,  but  later  they 
dispersed.  Henry  went  up  the  Hudson  river 
and  settled  in  Cornwall,  Richard  made  for 
Pennsylvania,  and  John  remained  at  Oyster 
Bay,  where  the  house  that  he  built  still  stands. 

Henry  Townshend  seems  to  have  been  a 
man  of  strong  religious  convictions,  and  he 
was  greatly  distressed  at  the  persecution  of 
the  Quakers  by  the  bigoted  Puritans  of  those 
days.  His  sympathy  with  the  oppressed  sect 
showed  itself  in  a  practical  manner,  for  he 
allowed  the  Quakers  to  hold  their  meetings 
at  his  house,  an  act  of  tolerance  which  greatly 
incensed  Peter  Stuyvesant,  the  Burgomaster 
of  the  town.  He  decided  to  make  an  example 


28         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

of  Henry  Townshend,  so  he  promptly  had 
him  arrested  and  imprisoned  in  the  Fort  at 
New  Amsterdam,  where  he  spent  months  of 
solitary  confinement,  cheered  only  by  the  daily 
visits  of  his  little  daughter,  who  was  allowed 
to  bring  him  his  food. 

After  his  release  Henry  returned  to  Oyster 
Bay,  where  he  lived  unmolested  to  a  good  old 
age.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  lovable 
personality,  who  had  the  courage  of  his  con- 
victions, and  whose  high  purpose  bore  out  the 
old  family  motto,  "Fidelity  earned  these  hon- 
ours for  our  race." 

The  Townshends  apparently  never  regret- 
ted their  severance  from  the  Old  Country; 
they  prospered  in  the  New  World,  handsome 
sons  and  fair  daughters  were  born  to  them, 
and  the  pressing  anxieties  of  life  seem  to  have 
passed  them  by. 

My  grandmother,  Hannah  Townshend,  was 
born  in  1785,  and  married  her  second  cousin 
Isaiah  Townshend.  They  settled  in  Albany, 
the  capital  of  the  state  of  New  York,  and  their 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         29 

daughter  Anne  was  destined  later  to  become 
the  wife  of  my  father,  Henry  Hull  Martin. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  adequately  the  dif- 
ference between  the  families  of  Townshend 
and  Martin.  The  Townshends  represented 
the  good  type  of  the  aristocratic  settlers  in 
America,  who  had  preserved  the  culture  and 
refinement  of  the  Court  of  St.  James's,  whilst 
the  Martins  embodied  the  splendid  spirit  of 
those  early  pioneers  who  endured  untold  hard- 
ships with  a  dogged  determination  to  "win 
through." 

Henry  Hull  Martin  was  born  at  Avon 
Genesia  in  1809.  His  father  died  when  a 
comparatively  young  man,  leaving  just  enough 
money  to  educate  his  son,  and  support  his 
widow  and  three  daughters,  who  found  it 
somewhat  of  a  struggle  to  live,  but  as  soon 
as  Henry  Martin  graduated  at  Union  College 
he  gave  the  little  money  he  had  to  his  mother 
and  started  out  to  support  himself. 

His  life  at  college  was  one  of  absolute  self- 
denial  ;  his  chief  aim  was  to  avoid  embarrass- 


30         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

ing  his  mother  in  any  way,  and  I  am  sure  that 
he  must  have  suffered  many  things  in  silence. 
He  was  a  very  tall  man,  and  his  clothes  had 
always  to  be  made  for  him,  so  when  his  over- 
coat was  worn  out,  and  a  new  one  meant  a 
call  on  the  slender  home  finances,  Henry 
would  wrap  himself  up  in  a  shawl  and  un- 
concernedly brave  the  elements  and  the  storm 
of  chaff  which  invariably  assailed  him  when 
he  went  to  his  classes. 

"Well,  Martin,"  remarked  the  President  of 
Union  College  one  day  when  he  came  face  to 
face  in  the  street  with  the  thin  shawl  envel- 
oped figure.  "Surely  you  don't  realize  what 
is  wrapped  up  in  your  mantle." 

I  never  think  of  this  story  without  marvel- 
ling at  my  father's  moral  courage,  and  I  think 
few  collegians  now-a-days  would  follow  his 
example,  as  it  seems  to  be  the  usual  thing  for 
young  men  to  emulate  women's  love  of  dress, 
and  to  incur  endless  tailors'  bills  with  a  total 
disregard  of  when  and  how  they  are  to  be 
paid. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         31 

After  leaving  Union  College,  Henry  Mar- 
tin became  private  secretary  to  Troup,  who 
was  Governor  of  the  State  of  New  York,  and 
whilst  residing  at  Albany  he  met  Anne  Town- 
send,  with  whom  he  fell  in  love  at  first  sight. 
Without  more  ado,  the  young  man  went  at 
once  to  Isaiah  Townsend  and  demanded  his 
daughter  in  marriage. 

The  Magnate  of  Albany  listened  to  the 
presumptuous  suitor  in  silent  amazement,  but 
at  last  he  found  words.  "Young  man,"  he 
asked  coldly,  "how  do  you  propose  to  support 
my  daughter?" 

"With  the  brains  which  God  has  given  me," 
answered  the  lover;  and,  when  he  saw  the  look 
of  incredulous  disdain  on  the  face  of  Isaiah 
Townsend,  he  added  warmly,  "Yes,  sir,  with 
my  brains  I'll  undertake  to  support  your 
daughter  and  to  make  her  happy." 

I  do  not  know  whether  old  Mr.  Townsend 
was  more  impressed  by  Henry  Martin's  au- 
dacity, or  by  his  personality,  but  in  the  end 
he  gave  his  consent  to  the  marriage,  and  my 


32         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

parents  lived  close  to  the  Townsend  house  in 
Albany,  where  my  father  started  as  a  lawyer 
and  where  he  continued  to  practise  until  1854, 
when  he  became  a  banker. 

I  was  my  parents'  sixth  child,  and  I  was 
born  on  December  6,  1849.  It  was  a  marvel 
that  I  came  into  the  world  alive,  as  for  some 
weeks  before  my  arrival  my  mother  had  been 
dangerously  ill  with  inflammatory  rheuma- 
tism, and  a  fatal  termination  was  regarded  as 
inevitable.  The  anxiety  of  the  family  was 
terrible,  and  their  fears  increased  hourly  on 
the  wintry  night  when  I  was  born.  But  even 
the  longest  period  of  anxiety  must  come  to  an 
end,  and  at  last  my  father  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  pale  but  happy,  and  announced,  "Anne 
is  safe,  and  she  has  another  son." 

My  happiest  recollections  centre  round  my 
childhood.  We  were  a  most  united  family; 
our  early  affection  has  endured  the  test  of 
time,  and  when  my  sister  Anna  (who  became 
Mrs.  Rochester)  was  dying,  her  last  words, 
which  are  too  sacred  to  repeat,  made  me  real- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         33 

ize  the  meaning  of  those  bonds.  Alice,  my 
senior  by  two  years,  was  my  inseparable  com- 
panion and  the  sweetest  tomboy  imaginable; 
little  Harriett  played  with  us  for  six  years,  and 
then  Death  called  her  away.  My  brothers 
were  dear  boys;  there  was  Henry  and  Bradley, 
whose  loss  is  still  so  fresh  that  I  hardly  dare  to 
realize  it,  and  Howard,  who  was  later  to  ac- 
company me  on  my  travels  abroad. 

The  most  impressive  figure  of  those  early 
days  was  my  grandmother  Townsend.  She 
was  a  woman  of  extraordinary  personality,  and 
she  reigned  as  a  queen  over  society  in  Albany, 
where  her  circle  consisted  of  people  who  were 
distinguished  for  their  wit  and  breeding. 
Grandmother  ruled  without  effort.  She  fas- 
cinated me  even  as  a  tiny  child,  until  I  became 
her  willing  and  adoring  slave,  and  the  great 
house  in  Washington  Avenue,  where  she  lived, 
was  to  me  a  palace  of  enchantment.  A  subtle 
sympathy  drew  us  together,  and  I  believe  she 
was  quite  innocently  proud  of  being  able  to 
attract  me,  and  to  see  how  eagerly  I  left  my 


34         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

play  when  I  was  allowed  to  spend  an  hour 
with  her. 

My  most  vivid  recollection  of  my  grand- 
mother is  when  I  used  to  creep  down  the 
passage  which  led  to  the  library.  I  can  see 
her  yet,  sitting  in  her  great  high-backed  chair 
by  the  window  with  the  light  falling  on  her 
sweet  face  with  its  delicate  features  and  won- 
derful eyes,  which  always  seemed  to  speak. 
Mrs.  Townsend  was  not  one  of  the  modern 
grandmothers ;  her  fine  lace  cap  was  not  to  her 
an  admission  of  age  of  which  shewas  ashamed ; 
indeed  I  thought  her  stiff,  pretty  curls  looked 
enchanting  under  it,  and  her  silk  gown,  with 
its  lace  collar  and  cuffs,  was  always  dignified 
and  becoming.  Negligees  were  unknown  in 
her  day,  and  I  doubt  if  she  would  have  given 
a  tea-gown  a  moment's  consideration. 

I  pushed  the  door  open  very  quietly.  "Do 
I  disturb  you,  grandmother,"  I  would  ask,  and 
I  was  always  reassured  by  her  charming  smile 
and  the  delightful  "Come  in,  Frederick." 
Then  I  advanced  to  the  seat  by  the  window  to 


My  grandmother — Hannah  Townsend 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         35 

be  kissed  and  welcomed,  and  afterwards,  seated 
by  her  side,  I  would  beg  her  to  tell  me  a  story. 
It  was  very  peaceful  in  that  quiet  library, 
with  its  old-fashioned  furniture,  which  Mrs. 
Townsend  had  inherited  from  her  mother,  and 
which  had  come  all  the  way  from  England 
— as  did  even  the  bricks  with  which  the  house 
was  built,  for  in  those  days  bricks  were  not 
made  in  America.  It  was  the  atmosphere  of 
refinement  which  appealed  to  me.  I  loved  the 
romance  which  seemed  to  cling  to  my  grand- 
mother, and  she,  impressionable,  a  dreamer  of 
beautiful  thoughts,  insensibly  coloured  my 
mind  with  her  imaginings.  I  owe  to  her  any 
taste  I  have  for  the  beautiful,  my  appreciation 
of  the  charm  of  bygone  days,  and  my  power  to 
conjure  up  scenes  of  the  past,  and  to  people 
them  with  those  who  played  their  parts  in  his- 
tory or  romance.  Thus  the  dead,  the  great, 
the  beautiful,  the  gifted  and  the  unfortunate 
are  to  me  living  people,  and  this  extraordinary 
power  of  visualizing  dates  back  to  those  happy 
hours  in  Washington  Avenue. 


36         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

The  story  which  seemed  to  give  my  grand- 
mother the  greatest  pleasure  to  relate  was  the 
account  of  her  honeymoon  trip  up  the  Hudson 
river  to  Albany. 

After  the  wedding  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom with  the  relatives  and  guests  went  down 
to  the  Battery  in  all  the  splendour  of  a  golden 
afternoon.  It  was  early  summer,  a  slight 
breeze  ruffled  the  waters  of  the  Hudson,  and 
the  sloop  which  had  been  chartered  for  the 
journey  rocked  gently  at  the  quay.  It  must 
have  been  a  picturesque  sight,  this  wedding 
party  in  Old  New  York.  I  can  imagine  the 
bevy  of  pretty  girls  in  their  high-waisted  cling- 
ing muslin  gowns,  the  young  bride  in  her  long 
white  satin  cloak  and  plumed  hat,  the  men  in 
their  blue  or  drab  coats  with  brass  buttons, 
and  every  one  deciding  that  this  voyage  up 
the  Hudson  was  vastly  original  and  diverting. 

There  were  only  some  servants  and  the  crew 
on  board,  for  the  household  possessions  had 
been  previously  dispatched,  and  whilst  the 
bride's  luggage  was  being  stowed  away  she 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         37 

bade  farewell  to  her  friends,  and  clung  tear- 
fully to  her  mother,  for  in  those  times  "sensi- 
bility" was  in  fashion  and  hearts  were  a  little 
less  blase  than  they  are  to-day.  Then  Mrs. 
Townsend  made  her  way  down  the  worn,  grey 
steps  (I  think  her  thin  satin  slippers  must  have 
been  sadly  stained  with  the  ooze  as  she  went 
on  board,  followed  by  her  husband).  The 
sloop  cast  off,  the  sails  filled,  and  the  boat  drew 
away,  amidst  waving  farewells  and  many 
wafted  kisses  from  the  bride,  until  it  disap- 
peared in  a  golden  haze,  symbolical,  as  per- 
haps some  romantic  soul  may  have  declared, 
of  a  golden  future  for  the  newly  married  pair. 
Then  began  the  memorable  voyage,  and  how 
often  have  I  journeyed  in  imagination  with 
my  grandmother  up  the  beautiful  Hudson 
river,  where,  I  think,  the  scenery  outrivals  the 
Rhine.  Day  by  day  the  boat  glided  along  on 
its  voyage  of  150  miles.  The  magnificent 
panorama  of  the  Palisades  gave  place  to  the 
calm  Tappan-Zee,  and  the  wondering  young 
people  admired  the  Highlands  and  the  Nar- 


38         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

rows,  where  dark,  deep  gorges  lie  beneath 
lofty  hills.  Sometimes  my  grandparents 
landed  and  took  horses  to  some  place  of  in- 
terest. Then  came  a  long  day  of  exploring 
the  thickly  wooded  country,  and  in  the  silent 
forests  they  would  sometimes  chance  on  the 
remains  of  an  Indian  camp  fire;  at  dusk  they 
rode  through  the  scented  night  air  back  to  the 
waiting  sloop,  and  continued  their  voyage. 

Grandmother  described  how  they  saw  the 
site  of  Tarry  Town,  immortalized  as  Sleepy 
Hollow  by  Washington  Irving,  and  one  day 
Isaiah  Townsend  excitedly  showed  his  wife 
where  the  great  chain  was  stretched  across  the 
Hudson  to  prevent  the  English  from  coming 
up  the  river  to  besiege  the  small  towns  on  its 
banks.  "This  chain,"  said  my  grandfather 
with  unconcealed  pride,  "was  forged  by  my 
father  Henry  Townsend  in  1778  at  the  Stir- 
ling Iron  Works,  which  he  owned,  and  the 
links  were  carried  to  West  Point  by  New 
England  teamsters.  The  chain  was  the  indi- 
rect means  of  discovering  a  traitor,  for  Bene- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         39 

diet  Arnold  wrote  to  the  British  authorities 
and  told  them  he  had  weakened  one  of  the 
links  to  permit  the  passage  of  the  English 
men-of-war,  but  the  letter  was  intercepted 
and  Arnold's  career  as  an  American  general 
was  ended. 

At  last  the  sloop  reached  the  Catskill  Moun- 
tains, the  Rip  Van  Winkle  country,  and  the 
end  of  the  journey  was  at  hand.  Like  Rip 
Van  Winkle,  the  young  couple  awoke  from  an 
enchanted  dream,  and  they  began  to  realize 
that  the  future  with  its  responsibilities  lay  be- 
fore them  in  their  new  home  at  Albany. 

"And  was  New  York  nicer  than  Albany?" 
I  always  asked,  with  the  design  of  hearing 
some  more  stories.  This  question  invariably 
"drew"  my  grandmother,  who  would  straight- 
way describe  the  picturesque  New  York  of  the 
quaint  gables  and  market-places,  and  she 
would  tell  me  about  the  peaceful  farms  ten- 
anted by  the  descendants  of  the  old  Colonial 
families,  gone,  alas  for  ever,  lost  in  the  rush 
of  life. 


40         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  listened  enraptured  to  her  recollections 
of  the  days  when  her  mother,  Mrs.  Solomon 
Townsend,  gave  great  receptions,  to  which  all 
the  distinguished  people  came.  She  told  me 
how  the  tone  of  society  was  influenced  by  the 
French  and  English  Courts,  and  how  the  at- 
mosphere was  almost  ultra- refined.  I  heard 
how  these  descendants  of  great  families  treas- 
ured the  souvenirs  of  the  past,  how  traditions 
were  respected,  and  how  both  men  and  women 
were  trained  from  their  earliest  childhood  to 
cultivate  charm  of  manner  and  to  display  all 
the  punctilious  ceremonial  of  the  Mother 
Country. 

Dances  in  those  days  were  very  stately  per- 
formances, and  the  minuets  were  a  delight  to 
watch,  for  the  dancers  walked  through  the  fig- 
ures with  wonderful  grace,  and  the  younger 
generation  were  not,  as  now,  allowed  to  mon- 
opolize the  floor,  and  to  romp  riotously  in  a 
tangle  of  Bunny  Hugs  and  Tangos.  Some  of 
the  elder  people  would  play  cards  during  the 
evening,  while  others  talked  politics,  and  those 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         41 

who  liked  books  discussed  the  latest  poems  and 
romances. 

The  midday  dinner  was  the  principal  repast 
of  the  day,  and  it  was  considered  the  correct 
thing  to  walk  on  the  old  Battery  at  sundown. 
This  was  the  rendezvous  where  friends  and 
acquaintances  met  to  exchange  courteous 
greetings,  and  to  hear  the  latest  gossip,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  realize  now,  when  the  glories 
of  State  Street  are  departed,  that  the  Battery 
was  the  centre  of  fashion  in  those  early, 
days. 

"And  were  the  houses  beautiful?"  I  would 
ask. 

That  question  always  appealed  to  my  grand- 
mother, and  she  described  with  extraordinary 
vividness  the  old  Colonial  houses  as  she  re- 
membered them,  the  large,  low-ceilinged 
rooms  with  their  panelled  walls,  where  old 
family  portraits  looked  down  on  their  de- 
scendants, the  parquet  floors  which  were  so 
highly  polished  that  they  seemed  like  gigantic 
mirrors,  and  the  cut-glass  chandeliers  and  can- 


42         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

delabra  which  shed  a  soft  light  upon  many 
picturesque  gatherings. 

"Tell  me  about  the  Revolution,"  I  fre- 
quently demanded,  for  those  stirring  times 
always  fired  my  imagination,  but  grandmother 
did  not  care  to  do  so.  I  know  now  that  her 
recollections  of  the  great  days  were  saddened 
ones,  as  the  half  of  our  family  who  were 
Tories  remained  faithful  to  King  George,  but 
the  progressive  and  Americanized  Townsends 
threw  in  their  lot  with  the  Revolutionary  Par- 
ty, and  even  dropped  the  "h"  in  their  surname 
as  a  protest  against  monarchy  and  aristocracy. 

One  of  the  stories  which  appealed  to  me 
very  much  concerned  the  doings  of  a  Scots- 
man, Roderick  Mclntosh  of  Georgia,  who  had 
escaped  to  America  after  the  rising  of  1745. 

This  remarkable  man  was  clan-mad,  if  I 
may  coin  a  description,  and  when  he  arrived 
in  America  he  brought  with  him  every  possi- 
ble vestige  of  his  Scottish  state.  Whenever 
Roderick  walked  abroad  a  piper  invariably 
preceded  him,  and  the  strains  of  the  bagpipes 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         43 

heralded  their  approach  and  afforded  endless 
entertainment  to  young  and  old  alike.  He 
was  wont  to  observe  that  if  he  could  ship 
sufficient  plaids,  bonnets  and  pipers  from  the 
Highlands,  he  would  turn  even  the  old  Dutch 
residents  into  Scotsmen,  as  he  felt  sure  they 
were  enviously  impressed  by  his  garb  and  dig- 
nity. When  he  visited  New  York  his  piper 
played  outside  the  house  he  chanced  to  be 
honouring  with  his  presence,  for  the  old  fa- 
miliar music  fired  Roderick's  imagination  in 
a  way  that  enabled  him  to  give  force  to  his 
arguments,  and  made  him  feel  that  a  Mcln- 
tosh  could  hold  his  own  with  the  best  of 
them. 

And  thus  my  romantic  yearnings  and  love 
of  the  history  of  bygone  days  were  fostered 
by  the  gracious  Lady  of  the  Large  House,  as 
I  mentally  designated  her.  I  was  always  run- 
ning in  to  see  her,  and  I  was  sure  of  a  welcome. 
Grandmother  understood  me;  she  seemed 
quite  to  realize  that  little  boys  could  not  be 
perfection,  and  she  never  made  me  unhappy. 


44         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

She  was  my  liege  lady,  and  I  paid  her  the  most 
sincere  of  all  homage — the  trusting  devotion 
of  a  child. 

It  is  sad  to  relate  that  I  had  no  such  feelings 
for  my  grandmother  Mrs.  Martin,  who  re- 
pelled me  as  much  as  Mrs.  Townsend  attract- 
ed me.  My  father's  mother  was  a  complete 
contrast  to  the  charming  luxury-loving  de- 
scendant of  the  Townsends.  She  was  a  Puri- 
tan of  Puritans,  with  all  the  stern,  unbending 
characteristics  of  the  original  New  England 
stock  that  had  been  made  strong  by  the  strug- 
gle for  existence.  It  had  been  their  lot  to 
battle  with  the  elements,  to  wrest  life  from 
the  land,  to  face  danger  alike  from  man  and 
beast,  and  often  to  die  as  unsung  heroes  who 
endured  without  complaint  to  the  very  end.  I 
now  realize  the  value  of  the  type,  but  in  those 
days  I  failed  to  appreciate  it,  and  my  grand- 
mother Martin  was  to  me  the  Terror  that 
walked  by  day  and  by  night. 

"Always  respect  your  grandmother,"  said 
my  father  to  me,  and  I  honestly  tried  to  do  so, 


45 

but  my  dreams  fled  at  her  approach  and  a 
sullen  defiance  seized  me.  "Why  can't  she  be 
friends  with  me  like  my  other  grandmother?" 
I  asked  myself,  and  one  day  when  she  tried  to 
interfere  with  some  childish  pursuit,  my 
smouldering  anger  blazed  forth. 

"The  nursery  is  my  land — not  yours!"  I  an- 
nounced. "You  just  mind  your  own  business, 
grandmother,"  and  the  gage  of  battle  thus 
thrown,  I  waited  in  expectation  to  see  what 
my  adversary  would  do.  She  did  not  reply, 
but  one  glance  at  her  face  was  enough.  She 
went  out  of  the  room.  What  was  Grand- 
mother Martin  contemplating?  Some  min- 
utes elapsed,  and  curiosity  overcoming  my 
fear,  I  crept  down  to  reconnoitre.  Through 
the  half-open  door  I  saw  her  standing  by  the 
window,  and  in  a  flash  I  realized  that  her  in- 
tention was  to  wait,  like  an  avenging  Nemesis, 
for  my  father  to  return  from  the  bank!  I 
scurried  upstairs,  and  I,  too,  waited,  hoping 
against  hope  that  she  would  relent. 

At  last  I  heard  my  father  come  in,  and  five 


46         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

minutes  afterwards  the  cry  of  "Frederick" 
broke  the  silence.  I  crouched  in  a  corner,  the 
call  was  repeated,  but  feeling  that  delay  was 
dangerous,  I  went  to  meet  my  fate  and  was 
thoroughly  well  whipped.  "Now  you'll  never 
be  rude  to  your  grandmother  again!"  and  one 
resounding  smack  finished  the  punishment. 
My  mother  wept  silently,  but  I  was  consumed 
with  rage.  I  never  forgave  Grandmother 
Martin,  but  if  she  felt  my  aversion  she  never 
appeared  to  notice  it;  she  pursued  her  accus- 
tomed way,  dignified  and  reserved,  and  I  think 
her  only  weak  spot  was  the  delight  she  experi- 
enced in  making  other  people  share  her  opin- 
ion of  her  importance. 

Poor  Mrs.  Martin,  how  she  would  have 
resented  the  spirit  of  change  which  has  swept 
over  her  country,  and  how  unadaptable  she 
would  have  shown  herself!  I  can  imagine 
Mrs.  Townsend  accepting  the  idea  of  an  aero- 
plane with  serene  urbanity,  and  quite  luxuri- 
ating in  an  automobile.  The  opinions  of  Mrs. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         47 

Martin  on  these  subjects  would  have  been 
forcible,  illuminating  and  not  uninteresting, 
but  I  am  sure  that  present-day  progress  would 
not  have  found  a  friend  in  her. 


CHAPTER   II 

My  father:  His  theories:  "Lead  us  not  into 
temptation":  My  mother,  her  gentle  influence: 
Pre-natal  conditions:  Her  sympathy:  "Just  a 
mother  with  a  mother's  heart":  Living  books: 
My  accident:  A  long  convalescence:  My  hero: 
Uncle  Frederick  and  the  butler's  son:  An  expedi- 
tion to  California:  The  Argonauts:  El  Dorado: 
Misfortune  dogs  my  uncle's  footsteps:  The  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea:  The  Nugget:  A  dreamer  of 
dreams:  New  York:  I  visit  the  Battery:  "They 
that  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships":  I  go  to  Union 
College:  Life  in  Albany:  The  old  Schuyler  Man- 
sion: Family  mirth-makers:  A  funeral  at  Middle- 
town:  A  recipe  to  stop  nose-bleeding:  A  chapter 
of  accidents:  My  uncle's  anger:  From  bad  to 
worse:  After  the  funeral:  My  uncle's  ultimatum: 
Franklin  Townsend:  His  violin:  The  poodle  that 
knew  the  time:  The  responsibilities  of  wealth: 
A  man  of  means:  Mr.  Townsend  and  the  heiress: 
How  General  Howard  James  drilled  his  servants: 
A  troop  of  Amazons:  The  simple  life:  A  "good 
atmosphere":  My  first  play:  Death  of  my  mother: 
"It  is  deep  happiness  to  die,  yet  live  in  love's  dear 
memory" 

48 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         49 

I  FEEL  that  I  pay  the  highest  tribute  to  my 
father's  memory  when  I  describe  him  as  one 
of  the  best  types  of  the  best  American.  He 
was,  indeed,  an  exceptional  man,  high-prin- 
cipled and  strict  almost  to  severity,  but  justice 
itself  in  everything  that  he  did. 

My  father's  favourite  saying  was,  "When  a 
man  has  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  the  wall 
he'll  go."  His  mother's  intolerance  found  no 
echo  in  his  own  life;  he  was  infinitely  under- 
standing, and  perhaps  his  wife's  gentle  in- 
fluence developed  the  softer  side  of  his 
nature. 

"Ah,"  he  would  often  remark,  "the  most 
powerful  part  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  is  the  ap- 
peal 'Lead  us  not  into  temptation' — it's  the 
most  difficult  foe  to  withstand."  I  used  to 
wonder  why  he  spoke  so  strongly;  perhaps  he 
had  known  and  resisted  temptation  himself. 
He  adored  his  children,  but  he  made  no  fa- 
vourites ;  his  ambition  was  to  see  us  grow  up 
worthy  members  of  society,  and  he  never  lost 
an  opportunity  of  instilling  into  us  his  ideas 


50         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

of  the  importance  of  work  and  one's  duty  to- 
wards others  in  every-day  life. 

My  mother  and  he  were  ideally  happy,  and 
well  had  he  kept  his  promise  to  her  father  to 
support  and  shelter  her.  To  me  my  mother  is 
a  sacred  memory  which  grows  sweeter  day  by 
day.  I  gave  her  my  whole-hearted  love,  and 
the  influence  of  her  beautiful  character  is  ever 
present  with  me. 

I  often  wonder  whether  the  pre-natal  con- 
ditions of  my  birth  accounted  for  the  extreme 
tenderness  which  my  mother  and  I  had  for 
each  other?  During  her  long  illness,  before 
my  birth,  she  must  have  often  trembled  lest 
her  child  should  bear  the  impress  of  her  own 
sufferings,  and  I  think  her  poignant  sense  of 
sympathy  must  have  been  transmitted  to 
me,  for  I  am  always  drawn  to  those  who 
suffer. 

Her  religion  was  beautiful  in  its  simple 
faith,  and  she  was  quite  unostentatious  in  its 
performance.  She  had  been  brought  up  as  a 
Presbyterian,  and  every  Friday  she  slipped 


My  father 
Henry  Hull  Martin 
Born  1809— Died  1886 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         51 

quietly  away  to  her  Prayer  Meeting,  no  matter 
what  social  duties  claimed  her.  She  never 
neglected  to  hear  me  say  my  prayers,  and  I 
picture  her  now  as  she  came  into  my  little 
room  and  knelt  by  me  heedless  of  her  beautiful 
evening  gown  and  sparkling  jewels.  Just  a 
mother  with  a  mother's  heart,  and  small  won- 
der that  I  used  to  think  her  an  angel  when 
she  sang  to  me.  The  beloved  face  has  been 
hidden  for  many  a  year,  and  the  sweet  voice 

A 

is  still,  but  "O  1'amour  d'une  mere!  amour  que 
nul  n'oublie." 

I  always  regarded  my  mother  and  my  grand- 
mother in  the  light  of  living  books,  for  I  found 
them  both  inexhaustible  in  interest,  and  noth- 
ing delighted  me  more  than  to  hear  about 
places  and  people.  When  I  was  a  small  boy 
of  seven  I  met  with  an  accident,  which  obliged 
me  to  remain  six  months  on  my  back,  but  the 
long  hours  of  illness  were  lightened  by  my 
mother's  devotion.  She  read  to  me,  and  to- 
gether we  discussed  the  characters  in  the  books 
until  they  seemed  like  real  people;  my  favour- 


52         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

ite  was  David  Copperfield,  and  I  remember 
how  much  I  wanted  to  see  Dover  as  described 
by  Dickens. 

My  ideal  hero  did  not,  however,  exist  in 
fiction,  but,  miracle  of  miracles,  he  was  a 
relation,  my  mother's  youngest  brother,  my 
namesake,  and  I  never  wearied  of  listening  to 
his  adventures. 

In  1849,  when  gold  was  first  discovered  in 
California,  Frederick  Townsend  begged  my 
grandmother  to  allow  him  to  set  out  to  seek 
his  fortune  with  the  Argonauts,  as  the  settlers 
in  California  were  then  called. 

A  great  deal  of  persuasion  was  required,  but 
at  last  grandmother  gave  her  consent  on  con- 
dition that  my  uncle  was  accompanied  by  the 
butler's  son,  who  would,  she  fondly  imagined, 
protect  him  from  all  harm. 

The  expedition  was  most  fully  equipped 
with  the  possible  requirements  of  a  gold- 
seeker,  and  my  uncle  started  on  his  journey  to 
El  Dorado.  But  misfortune  dogged  his  foot- 
steps at  every  turn.  The  butler's  son  had  to 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         53 

be  protected  instead  of  playing  the  part  of  a 
protector;  he  was  (barring  his  good  qualities) 
worse  than  useless.  He  couldn't  swim,  and 
so  my  uncle  had  to  carry  him  pick-a-back 
when  they  crossed  rivers  and  fords,  in  fact  he 
became  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  and  my  uncle 
the  reluctant  Sindbad.  Everything  went  amiss, 
and  for  a  long  time  there  was  no  news  of  the 
adventurous  Frederick.  His  family  mourned 
him  as  dead,  but  one  day  he  re-appeared  (ac- 
companied, of  course,  by  the  butler's  son) ,  and 
told  a  tale  of  adventure  which  rivalled  that 
of  the  immortal  Munchausen.  He  had  been 
made  captive  by  Indians,  a  tornado  had  car- 
ried away  his  tent  like  a  leaf  before  the  wind, 
but  he  had  succeeded  in  finding  gold,  which 
after  all  was  the  one  and  only  object  of  his 
journey. 

The  gold  which  my  uncle  dug  up  did  not 
permit  him  to  have  an  option  on  New  York 
City,  and  eventually  it  found  a  home  in  my 
mother's  jewel  case.  How  well  I  remember 
the  famous  nugget,  which  I  was  allowed  to 


54         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

handle  sometimes  as  a  very  great  favour.  "Do 
show  me  the  gold  Uncle  Fred  brought  home," 
was  my  oft-repeated  request,  and  I  can  live 
again  the  delightful  moment  when  the  jewel- 
case  was  unlocked,  and  I  saw  the  nugget  lying 
on  its  velvet  bed.  I  can  even  smell  the  faint 
odour  which  is  always  associated  with  these 
old  treasure-boxes,  and  which  one  never  smells 
elsewhere. 

I  used  to  hold  the  nugget  very  tightly,  close 
to  my  eyes,  and  then  imagine  I  was  out  camp- 
ing with  Uncle  Fred.  As  the  gold  warmed  in 
my  excited  hand,  I  felt  how  much  it  repre- 
sented— the  long  marches  and  the  measureless 
wastes  which  had  to  be  traversed  to  find  it. 
I  pictured  the  blinding  sandstorms ;  I  felt  the 
loneliness  of  Nature  in  secret  places,  and  in 
imagination  I  saw  the  stars  which  alwaysj 
seemed  to  me  like  eyes  watching  the  world. 
And  thus,  cheered  by  golden  books,  I  passed 
my  period  of  convalescence.  Then  I  was  able 
to  take  delightful  drives  with  my  mother,  and 
I  shall  never  forget  those  radiant  summer 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         55 

days.  I  wonder  why  fields  never  seem  so 
green,  or  why  the  skies  never  seem  so  blue 
when  we  have  passed  the  milestones  of  youth. 

I  was  eight  years  old  when  I  paid  my  first 
visit  to  New  York.  I  went  by  boat  with  my 
father,  and  I  remember  how  excited  I  felt 
on  that  old  side-wheeler  of  a  steamer,  for  was 
I  not  retracing  grandmother's  wonderful  voy- 
age? We  arrived  in  New  York  just  in  time  for 
dinner,  and  I  only  felt  homesick  when  I  was 
in  bed.  I  could  not  sleep,  for  every  quarter 
of  an  hour  I  heard  the  church  clock  strike,  but 
at  last  the  sound  so  got  on  my  nerves  that  I  fell 
asleep  worn  out  with  loneliness  and  fatigue. 

This  impression  of  a  certain  sound  being 
always  associated  with  loneliness  has  never 
faded,  and  I  think  my  belief  in  the  "early 
recollection"  has  a  parallel  case  in  Herbert 
Spencer's  experiences.  When  he  was  a  child 
his  nurse  left  him  in  the  house  on  the  evening 
of  the  week  when  the  bells  of  All  Saints', 
Derby,  were  rung.  The  little  boy  always 
remembered  the  bells  ringing  during  the  time 


56         THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

he  spent  alone,  and  in  later  life  he  wrote,  "All 
through  the  earlier  part  of  my  life,  and  even 
in  adult  years  I  never  heard  bells  without  a 
feeling  of  sadness  coming  over  me!" 

Early  next  morning  I  was  sent  off,  accom- 
panied by  my  cousin's  office  boy,  to  see  the 
sights  of  New  York,  and  the  first  place  I  made 
for  was  the  old  Battery.  I  shall  never  forget 
my  emotion  when  I  found  myself  on  the  sea 
wall,  and  felt  the  salt  breeze  from  the  Bay  kiss 
my  cheeks  in  greeting.  "Here  is  the  gate  of 
the  world,"  I  thought,  as  I  watched  the  great 
ships  sail  past.  Whither  were  they  bound? 
What  wonderful  countries  would  they  visit? 
And,  as  I  watched  them,  an  overmastering 
desire  to  travel  seized  me.  I  longed  to  be  on 
the  white  decks,  facing  the  unknown;  I,  too, 
wanted  to  see  the  World.  Then  I  reflected 
sorrowfully  that  I  was  only  eight  years  old, 
and  I  might  have  a  very  long  time  to  wait. 
Still,  something  seemed  to  tell  me  that  my 
hopes  would  be  realized,  and  indeed  they 
have,  for  since  I  stood  as  a  little  boy  on  the 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         57 

old  Battery  and  dreamt  my  dreams,  I  have 
travelled  far  and  wide  in  many  lands. 

The  office  boy  must  have  been  tired  of  wait- 
ing on  the  Battery,  but  I  left  it  with  reluc- 
tance, and  we  walked  home  without  speaking, 
for  I  was,  in  thought,  well  out  to  sea  in  a  phan- 
tom ship  of  my  own.  The  sight  of  Trinity 
Church  roused  me  from  my  meditations,  and 
I  marvelled  at  its  spire,  which  I  thought  must 
surely  reach  to  heaven.  Alas !  it  is  now  swal- 
lowed up  in  a  maze  of  modern  buildings, 
which  have  invaded  the  precincts  of  the  old 
church  and  robbed  it  for  ever  of  its  pictur- 
esque charm. 

We  stayed  a  week  in  New  York,  and  I  was 
not  sorry  to  return,  for  I  rather  resented  being 
treated  by  my  cousins  as  a  little  boy  from  the 
country,  and  I  was  all  impatience  to  tell  my 
mother  and  my  grandmother  about  my  won- 
derful visit. 

My  first  experience  of  school  life  was  at  the 
Albany  Academy,  which  has  just  celebrated 
its  centenary,  and  which  is  one  of  the  few  old 


58         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

landmarks  of  my  birthplace.  At  the  age  of 
fourteen  my  father  decided  that  I  must  be 
partly  emancipated  from  home  influence,  so  I 
was  sent  to  Union  College,  where  my  relative, 
Isaac  Jackson,  was  one  of  the  best  known  and 
respected  Professors.  He  possessed  a  most 
beautiful  garden,  which  was  open  to  the  stu- 
dents, and  where  I  spent  many  delightful 
hours  seated  from  view  up  one  of  the  great 
trees.  Those  days  are  amongst  my  happiest 
recollections.  I  returned  to  Albany  every 
Saturday,  to  spend  a  quiet  Sunday  with  my 
people,  and  I  was  sure  that  my  mother  would 
always  show  her  invariable  sympathy  and  in- 
terest in  all  my  doings.  What  a  wonderful 
woman  she  was,  and  how  much  I  owe  to  her! 
Life  in  Albany  went  on  very  smoothly,  and 
I  think  it  was  a  much  prettier  town  in  those 
days.  I  remember  the  old  Schuyler  Mansion, 
where  a  tomahawk  was  firmly  imbedded  over 
the  dining-room  door.  This  was  a  striking 
souvenir  of  the  hatred  shown  to  the  whites  by 
the  Indians  in  the  early  Colonial  days,  and 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER          59 

the  story  was  that  it  had  been  flung  by  an 
Indian  through  the  open  window  when  the 
family  were  seated  at  table,  but  luckily  it 
missed  its  mark. 

Some  of  my  relatives  were  quite  "charac- 
ters," but  naturally  I  never  let  them  see  that 
I  appreciated  them  from  a  humorous  point  of 
view,  although  I  suppose  certain  members  of 
a  family  are  bound  to  realize  that  they  are 
regarded  by  the  others  as  unconscious  mirth- 
makers. 

When  I  was  about  twelve  years  old  I  was 
taken  by  my  Uncle  Frederick  Townsend  to  a 
family  funeral  at  Middletown,  Connecticut. 

We  arrived  at  the  old  country  town  at  dusk, 
and  drove  immediately  to  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing, where  we  were  welcomed  tearfully  by  our 
relations.  Strange  to  say,  Uncle  Frederick 
had  never  told  me  that  my  great-aunt  was 
blind,  and  as  she  bent  down  to  kiss  me  her 
spectacles  caught  the  bridge  of  my  nose  with 
such  alarming  force  that  it  started  to  pour 


60         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

with  blood.  Every  one  was  distressed,  and  I 
was  hurried  out  into  the  nearest  room  to  try 
the  cold  water  treatment,  which  was  not  very 
efficacious. 

Suddenly  Uncle  whispered  in  an  awful 
voice,  "Frederick,  you  are  in  the  room  with 
the  corpse."  I  started  and  peered  fearfully 
in  the  semi-darkness,  terrified  lest  I  should 
discern  the  grim  outline  of  the  coffin.  The 
shock  proved  far  more  effectual  in  stopping 
the  bleeding  than  any  iced  water,  and  I  was 
heartily  glad  to  find  myself  outside  the  house 
again. 

Next  day  there  was  a  chapter  of  accidents. 
We  missed  our  way,  and  reached  the  house 
just  as  the  undertaker  was  reading  aloud  the 
names  of  those  who  were  to  attend  the  funeral. 
Through  some  terrible  mistake  my  uncle's 
name  was  omitted  from  the  list  and  mine  sub- 
stituted, and  I  was  straightway  taken  to  one 
of  the  waiting  carriages  without  my  uncle, 
who  was  in  a  furious  rage  at  the  contretemps, 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         61 

indeed  it  required  all  the  united  tact  of  the 
family  to  induce  him  to  go  to  the  funeral  in- 
stead of  making  for  the  railway  station. 

Unfortunately,  when  we  arrived  at  the 
church  the  same  thing  happened,  and  I  was 
ushered  into  a  front  pew  without  Uncle 
Frederick. 

One  of  my  aunts  was  sitting  next  to  me,  and 
suddenly  I  heard  her  whisper,  "Fred,  look 
look!  Merciful  heavens!  your  uncle  is  way 
back  amongst  the  servants."  I  turned,  and 
sure  enough  there  he  was,  crowded  up  with 
the  domestics,  and  his  looks  were  deadly 
enough  to  kill  all  the  mourners.  I  dreaded 
the  explosion,  which  I  knew  was  bound  to 
come  after  this  crowning  humiliation,  and 
when  we  returned  to  the  house  Uncle  Fred- 
erick delivered  his  ultimatum  to  the  family. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  scene.  There  were 
the  ladies  tearfully  conscious  of  their  expen- 
sive crepes  and  bombazines,  the  men  sleek  in 
their  broadcloth,  and  the  family  lawyer,  all- 
important,  as  seems  usual,  on  such  occasions. 


62         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Uncle  Frederick  waited  until  the  last  strag- 
gler came  into  the  room,  and  then  said,  in 
cold,  cutting  accents,  "I  have  come  all  the 
way  from  Albany  to  pay  my  respects  to  the 
dead,  but  never  did  I  imagine  that  I  should 
be  treated  in  such  a  manner.  I  now  tell  you, 
that  no  matter  'who  dies  in  this  family,  I  will 
not  under  any  circumstances  attend  another 
funeral.  This  is  all  I  have  to  say.  .  .  . 
Come,  Frederick,"  and  so  speaking  he  walked 
out  of  the  room. 

My  uncle  hardly  spoke  on  the  homeward 
journey,  and  he  never  forgave  the  insult  he 
had  received,  for  he  was  a  very  punctilious 
person,  who  was  always  careful  to  conform 
to  the  convenances,  and  who  permited  no  de- 
viations from  the  accepted  rules  of  etiquette. 

His  eldest  brother,  Franklin  Townsend, 
was  a  rather  eccentric  widower  who  lived 
alone  in  Albany.  In  the  days  of  his  youth  he 
had  been  an  ardent  violin  player,  but  when  he 
married  he  neglected  his  hobby,  and  only  took 
it  up  again  after  his  wife's  death. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         63 

After  his  midday  meal  he  would  play  over 
the  melodies  he  loved  as  a  bachelor,  seated  in 
his  big  arm-chair,  but  gradually  as  he  fiddled 
the  bow  would  move  slower  and  slower,  until 
at  last  it  dropped  from  his  hand  and  he  slept. 

At  four  o'clock  precisely,  when  the  time- 
piece struck  the  hour,  his  little  poodle  jumped 
up  and  awakened  his  master  with  a  stroke  of 
its  paw;  the  two  would  then  go  out  for  an 
afternoon  stroll,  and  this  took  place  every  day 
until  he  died. 

Uncle  Franklin  was  a  charming  old  man, 
and  he  delighted  to  tell  me  tales  of  his  boy- 
hood, and  especially  one  story  connected  with 
what  he  termed  "the  responsibilities  of 
wealth." 

When  he  was  a  boy  his  father,  Isaiah  Town- 
send,  was  interested  in  an  old  man  named 
John  Cameron,  who  used  to  earn  his  living 
by  selling  oysters.  My  grandfather  felt  sorry 
for  Cameron,  so  he  presented  him  with  a 
horse  and  cart  to  replace  the  heavy  barrow  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  pushing  through  the 


64         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

streets,  and  the  gratitude  and  delight  of  the 
oyster-seller  were  unbounded. 

One  day  as  Mr.  Townsend  was  driving 
through  Albany,  his  attention  was  arrested  by 
the  sight  of  a  crowd,  and  he  stopped  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  It  was  summer-time  and 
the  oppressive  heat  had  completely  overcome 
Cameron's  horse,  which  was  lying  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road  whilst  its  master  mopped  its 
head  with  a  cold  water  sponge.  Suddenly 
Cameron  looked  up,  and  when  he  saw  my 
grandfather  he  said  in  tones  of  deep  self-pity, 
"Oh,  sir!  oh,  Mr.  Townsend,  I  never  realized 
until  I  had  this  horse  and  cart  what  a  re- 
sponsibility it  is  to  be  a  man  of  means!" 

We  were  a  very  united  family,  and  scandals 
were  practically  unknown,  but  I  always  en- 
joyed hearing  about  the  matrimonial  differ- 
ences of  my  cousin  Dr.  Townsend,  which  at 
one  time  threatened  to  upset  the  domestic 
peace.  He  had  married  money,  and  the  lady, 
like  most  heiresses,  was  keenly  alive  to  her  own 
value,  and  somewhat  inclined  to  insist  upon 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         65 

it.  My  cousin  rather  resented  her  attitude, 
for  he  rightly  considered  that  there  should  be 
no  mine  and  thine  in  marriage,  "Share  and 
share  alike"  being  his  creed.  Therefore  when 
Mrs.  Townsend  objected  to  his  giving  orders, 
he  openly  rebelled,  and  one  morning  wit- 
nessed the  tug-of-war  between  them. 

"My  dear,"  he  announced  through  the  bath- 
room door,  "I  am  going  to  try  the  new 
horse." 

"You'll  do  no  such  thing,"  retorted  his  wife. 

"But,  my  dear,  I  mean  to." 

"You  shall  not,  I  tell  you,"  answered  the 
lady  in  the  bath-room,  "whose  money  bought 
the  horse?" 

"Yours"  shouted  Dr.  Townsend,  "and  I 
suppose  you  will  say  next  that  your  money 
bought  me." 

His  wife  gave  an  angry  shriek,  and  fell 
backwards  into  the  bath,  for  she  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  when  she  received  the  answer  to 
her  insulting  remarks.  Then  there  there  was 
an  alarming  splash! 


66         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"Thank  Heaven  there's  a  door  between 
us,"  observed  her  husband  as  he  hurried 
away. 

The  shock  gave  the  lady  a  lesson,  and  she 
never  afterwards  thrust  her  wealth  in  her  hus- 
band's teeth;  indeed,  they  became  a  devoted 
couple,  and  if  Mrs.  Townsend  had  been  asked 
whose  money  had  bought  the  horses,  she  would 
doubtless  have  replied,  "Dr.  Townsend's,  of 


course." 


I  remember  hearing  a  story  that  convulsed 
Albany  during  the  Civil  War,  when  General 
Howard  James  was  getting  troops  to  the 
front.  He  worked  unremittingly,  and  one 
evening  he  dined  with  some  men,  much  against 
his  will,  for  he  was  dog  tired,  and  only  yielded 
after  much  persuasion  from  his  friends. 

The  General  never  was  a  heavy  drinker,  but 
the  little  wine  he  took  on  this  occasion  af- 
fected him  in  his  fatigued  condition,  and  he 
was  quite  overcome  when  he  reached  the  house 
where  he  lived  with  his  mother.  Although 
the  wine  had  somewhat  mastered  his  senses, 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         67 

the  ruling  passion  of  troop  forming  still  dom- 
inated the  General's  mind,  so  he  went  up- 
stairs and  aroused  his  mother  by  a  thunder- 
ing knock  at  her  bedroom  door.  When  the 
terrified  old  lady  feebly  demanded  what  was 
the  matter,  her  son  informed  her  that  she 
must  get  up  and  tell  the  household  to  muster 
for  drill  in  the  dining-room. 

As  Mrs.  James  only  employed  women  serv- 
ants, a  troop  of  bewildered  Amazons  pres- 
ently appeared  in  various  stages  of  deshabille, 
carrying  pokers,  broom  handles  and  other 
domestic  implements  to  obey  the  order. 

Of  course  their  master's  condition  was  quite 
apparent,  but  the  devoted  domestics  grasped 
the  situation,  and  headed  by  his  old  mother 
they  were  drilled  up  and  down  until  the 
General  dropped  from  sheer  exhaustion,  and 
was  promptly  carried  off  to  bed. 

I  sometimes  look  back  on  those  simple  days 
with  regret,  and  I  am  sure  that  I  must  have 
derived  some  advantage  from  the  "good" 
atmosphere  of  my  home.  The  young  man  of 


68         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

to-day  would  have  been  bored  to  tears  with 
our  domesticity,  and  the  modern  girl  would 
not  have  given  us  a  moment's  consideration. 
Economy,  not  extravagance,  was  inculcated 
into  us,  and  we  were  given  very  little  pocket- 
money,  in  fact  I  remember  as  a  small  boy 
feeling  quite  rich  when  my  brother  Bradley 
occasionally  gave  me  a  penny! 

I  never  saw  a  play  until  I  was  fifteen,  when 
I  was  thrilled  with  the  sorrows  of  Lady  Isabel 
in  East  Lynne.  I  hurried  home  to  tell  my 
mother  all  about  it,  but  although  she  appeared 
to  be  quite  interested,  I  could  see  she  tacitly 
disapproved  of  the  stage,  and  I  resolved  not 
to  distress  her  by  going  again  to  the 
theatre. 

My  mother  died  on  March  4,  1866,  and 
even  after  all  these  years  I  find  it  difficult  to 
write  about  the  infinite  gap  which  her  death 
made  in  our  family.  Her  simple  faith,  her 
boundless  sympathy  and  her  beautiful  life  are 
things  almost  too  sacred  to  mention,  but  I 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         69 

am  sure  she  was  one  of  those  sweet  women 
who  would  have  deemed — 

"It  is  deep  happiness  to  die, 
Yet  live  in  love's  dear  memory." 


CHAPTER   III 

My  brother's  marriage:  Miss  Cornelia  Sherman: 
I  look  out  of  the  window:  A  pretty  picture: 
Changes:  From  hotel  to  convent:  Sharon  Springs: 
I  meet  Ward  McAllister:  A  serenade:  I  visit 
New  York:  Old  landmarks:  Mrs.  Ronalds:  Her 
famous  costume  ball:  Music:  The  illuminated 
harp:  The  triumph  of  electricity:  "Age  cannot 
wither  nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety": 
Life  in  Albany :  Lord  Palmerston  and  the  beggar : 
I  am  elected  President  of  the  Young  Men's  Asso- 
ciation: A  reception:  No  admittance  for  my 
father:  My  first  speech:  Mrs.  Moulton  sings  at 
Albany:  A  favourite  at  the  Tuileries:  Charlotte 
Cushman:  I  recall  her  first  triumph:  The  dead 
President's  progress 

MY  brother  Bradley  married  Miss  Cornelia 
Sherman  on  January  26,  1869.  He  had  made 
her  acquaintance  at  the  wedding  of  Elliot 
Sheppard,  who  was  then  acting  as  aide-de- 
camp to  Governor  Reuben  Fenton. 

Miss  Sherman  was  one  of  the  bridesmaids, 

70 


My  brother — Bradley  Martin 


71 

and  my  brother  fell  in  love  at  first  sight  with 
the  charming  girl. 

I  remember  shortly  afterwards  receiving  a 
telegram  from  Bradley  at  West  Point  asking 
me  to  come  at  once  to  Cozen's  Hotel  where 
he  was  stopping,  and  the  message  concluded 
with  the  words,  "I  want  you."  I  arrived  at 
West  Point  in  time  for  dinner,  and  Bradley, 
with  the  directness  which  always  character- 
ized him,  at  once  enlightened  me  as  to  the  why 
and  wherefore  of  my  summons.  He  led  me 
to  the  window  of  his  sitting-room,  "Look, 
Fred,"  said  my  brother,  "do  you  see  that  girl 
with  the  lovely  hair?  Well,  I  love  her,  and 
I'm  going  to  marry  her." 

I  looked  as  I  was  directed,  and  my  gaze  fell 
on  a  young  girl  who  was  seated  with  an  older 
lady  in  the  garden  under  our  window.  As  I 
watched  her  she  turned,  and  I  saw  a  sweet 
face  lit  up  with  wonderful  blue  eyes.  "I  think 
she's  just  perfect,"  I  said  impulsively,  "you 
couldn't  have  chosen  any  one  nicer."  Bradley 
seemed  very  pleased,  and  I  was  presently  in- 


72         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

troduced  to  Miss  Sherman  and  her  mother, 
who,  luckily  for  my  brother,  had  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  him. 

I  always  remember  this  first  meeting  at 
the  pretty  old  hotel  on  the  hill  with  the  beau- 
tiful Hudson  river  winding  like  a  ribbon  far 
below,  and  to  this  day  I  never  pass  the  place 
without  the  tinge  of  sadness  with  which  cer- 
tain recollections  are  always  associated.  The 
hotel  is  now  a  convent;  time  has  wrought 
many  changes,  and  my  dear  brother  and  friend 
has  gone  for  ever  from  those  whom  he  loved 
and  who  loved  him. 

After  my  mother's  death  I  remained  alone 
with  my  father  in  Albany,  for  Bradley,  and 
my  sister,  who  had  married  the  clever  young 
lawyer  Julian  Tappin  Davies,  were  then  liv- 
ing in  New  York.  I  spent  a  few  weeks  with 
my  brother  and  his  wife  at  Sharon  Springs, 
then  a  very  fashionable  resort,  where  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Ward  McAllister, 
the  great  social  leader  and  the  Beau  Brummel 
of  his  day. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         73 

His  father,  Mathew  Hall  McAllister,  was 
once  a  prominent  officer  in  the  Georgia 
Hussars,  the  crack  regiment  of  the  South.  He 
possessed  famous  wine-cellars,  entertained  on 
a  lavish  scale,  and  at  his  dinners  one  met  most 
of  the  wits  and  beauties  of  the  day.  His  son 
had  a  positive  flair  for  organizing  parties;  the 
picnics  which  he  gave  were  looked  upon  as 
social  events,  for  he  possessed  the  faculty  for 
bringing  the  right  people  together,  and  what 
is  more,  he  never  lost  the  charming  and  courtly 
manners  of  the  South.  Ward  McAllister  has 
been  criticized  by  many,  and  occasionally  his 
harmless  vanities  have  been  held  up  to  ridi- 
cule, but,  as  one  who  knew  and  liked  him,  I 
can  pay  this  tribute  to  his  memory,  that  he 
was  a  man  who  always  tried  to  say  something 
good  about  people. 

He  attached  tremendous  importance  to  the 
value  of  conversation;  nothing,  he  declared, 
could  ever  equal  the  delight  to  be  obtained 
from  the  society  of  people  of  wit  and  culture, 
and  "Brains  before  Beauty,  and  Mind  before 


74         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Money,"  was  his  favourite  saying.  At  his 
dinner  parties  one  never  experienced  the  rest- 
lessness which  often  makes  the  hostess  rush 
the  meal  through  with  no  thought  for  the 
speed  limit,  and  for  what  object?  More  often 
than  not  one's  digestion  and  temper  suffer 
solely  in  order  to  get  to  a  music  hall  in  time  to 
see  Society's  latest  craze  in  exotic  dancers  or 
to  witness  the  actions  of  educated  apes. 

I  can  always  get  a  mental  picture  of  Ward 
McAllister  (who,  by  the  way,  was  a  handsome 
double  of  Napoleon  III)  as  he  sat  back  in 
his  chair  holding  up  his  glass  of  Madeira,  so 
that  the  light  filtered  through  the  wine  and 
turned  it  into  liquid  gold.  The  old-fashioned 
Southern  hosts  were  especially  proud  of  their 
Madeira,  and  McAllister  would  tell  us  how 
many  times  the  wine  had  crossed  the  ocean 
before  it  had  been  mellowed  into  perfection. 

Ward  introduced  me  to  some  charming 
people  at  Sharon  Springs,  and  it  was  there 
that  I  first  fell  in  love.  The  young  lady  was 
my  senior  by  several  years,  but  that  mattered 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         75 

little  to  me,  and  being  romantic  and  reckless, 
I  determined  to  lay  siege  to  her  heart  by  a 
moonlight  serenade.  I  couldn't  sing  myself, 
so  I  engaged  a  guitar-playing  Spaniard  to  act 
as  my  substitute  outside  the  lady's  window, 
whilst  I  hid  a  few  doors  off  to  listen  to  the 
effect 

It  all  seemed  quite  satisfactory  to  me,  but  a 
few  days  later  at  dinner  I  heard  my  hostess 
tease  the  object  of  my  adoration  about  her 
unknown  admirer. 

"It  was  a  great  joke,"  answered  the  recipient 
of  my  devotion.  "I  can't  think  what  lovesick 
creature  was  fool  enough  to  serenade  me — I 
guess  he  thought  he  had  hired  some  one  to 
sing,  but  I  can  only  say  that  he  managed  to 
get  some  one  to  howl,  and  I've  no  use  for  that 
kind  of  thing." 

I  smiled,  as  in  duty  bound,  but  it  was  a 
smile  sickly  near  to  the  vanishing  point,  and 
my  mortification  was  complete  when  the  lady 
bade  me  good-night  with  the  following  re- 
marks, "Well,  Fred  Martin,  you've  made  a 


76         THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

stupid  of  yourself  anyway.  I  knew  all  along 
it  was  your  affair,  and  I  hope  you'll  take  the 
lesson  to  heart  and  get  some  common  sense  just 
as  soon  as  you  can  grasp  it." 

I  had  a  delightful  time  at  Sharon  Springs, 
and,  after  my  return,  my  father  often  allowed 
me  to  visit  the  Lawrence  and  the  Townsend 
families,  and  then  I  began  to  hear  and  see 
something  of  the  social  life  of  New  York.  I 
remember  seeing  the  Grinnell  mansion  at  the 
corner  of  Fourteenth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue, 
where  Mrs.  Grinnell  queened  it  as  a  great  lady 
of  fashion,  and  where  she  entertained  the  late 
King  Edward  on  his  first  visit  to  New  York. 

Delmonico's  afterwards  occupied  the  site  of 
the  Grinnell  house,  and  another  quaint  build- 
ing, since  demolished,  was  the  Goelet  Mansion, 
surrounded  by  trees  and  lawns,  where  on  sunny 
days  one  could  see  the  peacocks  proudly 
spreading  their  tails.  It  was  a  splendid  place, 
one  of  the  last  relics  of  old  New  York,  and  I 
used  to  have  many  romantic  fancies  about  it. 
I  was  told  that  its  owners  were  immensely 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         77 

rich;  indeed,  the  grandfather  of  the  present 
Duchess  of  Roxburghe  used  to  boast  that  he 
lived  on  the  income  of  his  income. 

I  often  heard  my  relations  speak  of  the 
fashionable  receptions  and  dinners  given  by 
the  Duers,  the  Crugers,  the  Minturns,  the 
Rhinelanders,  and  a  host  of  other  names  well 
known  in  the  days  before  the  Civil  War,  and 
my  aunts  affirmed  that  although  the  houses 
were  much  smaller  than  those  which  were 
beginning  to  spring  up,  what  they  lacked  in 
space  was  more  than  compensated  for  by  the 
select  society  one  met  there. 

The  greatest  sensation  at  that  time  was  a 
fancy  dress  ball  given  by  young  Mrs.  Peter 
Lorillard  Ronalds  at  Mi-Careme  just  before 
the  close  of  the  war.  In  those  days  a  costume 
ball  was  a  tremendous  affair,  not  as  now,  when 
the  mania  for  dressing-up  has  seized  Society 
to  such  an  extent  that  even  ordinary  costumes 
touch  on  those  worn  at  a  masquerade. 

Mrs.  Ronalds  purposely  sent  out  her  V 
tations  three  months  beforehand  so  that 


78         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

had  a  chance  of  getting  their  dresses  from 
Paris,  and  the  ball  was  given  at  the  Louis 
Mansion  where  the  Ronalds  lived. 

The  hostess  personated  "Music"  and  wore 
a  wonderful  white  satin  gown  embroidered 
with  bars  of  music  from  Verdi's  "Ballo  in 
Maschera."  Her  crown,  specially  made  in 
Paris,  was  formed  of  musical  notes  arranged 
round  a  harp  illuminated  with  the  tiniest  gas 
jets,  which  were  supplied  from  a  holder  hid- 
den in  her  hair.  This  made  a  great  impression ; 
the  harp  glowed  and  sparkled  all  the  time  that 
Mrs.  Ronalds  received  her  guests,  and  she  only 
removed  the  meter  when  dancing  began. 

Mrs.  Ronalds  wore  a  similar  gown  at  the 
costume  ball  given  by  the  late  Duchess  of 
Devonshire  at  Devonshire  House,  but  science 
had  made  great  strides  since  the  sixties,  and 
gas  was  no  longer  necessary  for  lighting  pur- 
poses.    On  this  occasion  the  harp  of  music 
ou!one  from  eleven  in  the  evening  until  half- 
used--  f°ur  on  tne  following  morning,  and  the 
had  given  place  to  a  convenient  little 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         79 

battery  which  did  not  interfere  with  dancing 
in  the  least. 

I  hope  I  shall  not  be  considered  ungallant 
in  laying  stress  upon  the  flight  of  time  where 
a  lady  and  her  dress  are  concerned.  Some 
women  could  not  be  subjected  to  such  an 
ordeal,  but  Mrs.  Ronalds  is  one  of  those  rare 
people  who  keep  off  old  age  by  their  mental 
gifts,  which  enable  them  to  understand  the  art 
of  living  and  to  make  life  a  joy  to  themselves 
and  those  around  them. 

Mrs.  Ronalds  possesses  a  remarkable  so- 
prano voice,  and  during  the  war  she  sang  at 
Mr.  Leonard  Jerome's  private  theatre  in  aid 
of  the  wounded  soldiers.  On  this  occasion  she 
enacted  the  role  of  prima  donna  in  four 
operas,  and  electrified  the  audience  by  her 
fine  singing  and  dramatic  acting;  indeed  such 
was  the  renown  of  her  voice  that  in  Paris  she 
was  known  as  the  "Patti  des  Salons." 

No  entertainment  in  those  days  was  con- 
sidered complete  unless  the  two  Miss  Irvins 
were  present.  One  afterwards  married  James 


80         THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

Burden,  and  the  other  became  the  wife  of 
George  Griswold  Gray.  Both  ladies,  like 
Mrs.  Ronalds,  have  defied  Time,  for  they  re- 
tain all  the  grace  of  manner  and  the  fascina- 
tion which  attracted  people  to  them  years  ago. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  knowing  so  many 
prominent  people  made  me  a  person  of  in- 
creased importance  when  I  returned  to  Al- 
bany, and  my  relations  used  to  look  forward 
to  hearing  all  about  my  doings  in  New  York. 
Each  time  I  came  back  I  seemed  to  find  the 
quiet  little  town  smaller  and  smaller,  and  I 
longed  to  travel  and  to  meet  people  with 
whom  I  was  more  in  sympathy.  My  father 
was  certainly  a  delightful  companion;  we 
were  devoted  to  each  other,  and  he  took  the 
greatest  interest  in  all  that  interested  me.  He 
was  a  most  sociably  inclined  man,  but  unfor- 
tunately his  digestion  prevented  him  from  en- 
joying his  food. 

I  remember  once  saying  to  him  as  he  was 
going  out,  "Well,  father,  I  hope  you'll  have 
a  good  dinner." 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         81 

"My  dear  Fred,"  he  replied,  "I  always  feel 
like  Lord  Palmerston  when  I  dine  out." 

"How  did  he  feel?"  I  asked. 

"It  was  this  way,"  answered  my  father.  "I 
must  first  mention  that  Lord  Palmerston's  di- 
gestion and  mine  must  have  been  wonderfully 
alike.  One  night  he  was  accosted  by  a  beggar 
just  as  he  was  entering  a  house  where  he  was 
going  to  dine.  "Give  me  a  sixpence,  my  lord, 
I'm  starving,"  cried  the  man.  Palmerston 
handed  him  the  coin  and  remarked  as  he  did 
so,  "Why,  I'd  give  a  sovereign  to  suffer  from 
your  complaint." 

My  father  had  a  keen  sense  of  humour,  and 
I  remember  an  amusing  occurrence  after  I 
was  elected  President  of  the  Young  Men's  As- 
sociation at  Albany,  when  I  enjoyed  the  proud 
distinction  of  being  the  youngest  President 
who  had  yet  held  the  chair.  My  election  took 
place  on  a  day  when  my  father  was  away  in 
New  York,  and  I  was  so  elated  at  my  success 
that  I  straightway  invited  my  acquaintances 
to  come  to  a  reception  on  the  morrow.  When 


82         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

the  great  day  arrived  I  was  astonished  to  find 
that  my  friends  had  collected  enough  money 
to  pay  for  a  band,  and  were  marching  to  our 
house  heralded  by  strains  of  martial  music. 

The  band  installed  itself  in  the  hall,  and 
soon  the  house  was  packed  to  straining  point. 
Guests  streamed  through  the  reception-rooms; 
there  was  an  ever-moving  crowd  coming  and 
going;  the  band  played  its  loudest,  and  when 
the  excitement  was  at  its  height  my  father 
returned  from  New  York. 

At  the  sight  of  the  concourse  he  doubtless 
felt  some  natural  astonishment,  and  for  some 
time  he  was  unable  to  enter  his  own  house. 
He  waited  patiently  outside  on  the  steps, 
nearly  deafened  with  the  music  and  the  inces- 
sant buzz  of  conversation  around  him,  but 
at  last,  by  dint  of  pushing  and  squeezing,  he 
managed  to  reach  the  door.  There  a  friend 
recognized  him  and  remarked,  "Mr.  Martin, 
you'll  have  to  fight  your  way  in  to  congratulate 
your  son."  My  father  smiled,  and  as  he  was 
fond  of  telling  a  story,  he  said,  "This  crush 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         83 

reminds  me  of  an  old  acquaintance  who  was 
told  as  a  compliment  that  one  of  his  friends 
was  unable  to  attend  the  funeral  of  his  wife 
owing  to  the  impossibility  of  getting  into  the 
house  by  reason  of  the  crowd.  The  widower 
turned  and  remarked  drily,  'I  would  like  you 
to  understand  that  I  did  not  build  my  house 
for  funerals.'  "  "Neither,"  added  my  father, 
"did  I  build  my  house  for  processions  and 
brass  bands." 

He  was,  nevertheless,  well  pleased,  espe- 
cially as  I  had  been  chosen  to  fill  a  respon- 
sible position  which  had  been  hitherto  held 
by  older  men.  As  President  of  the  Young 
Men's  Association  I  gained  my  first  experi- 
ence of  public  speaking,  and  one  night 
I  was  called  upon  to  introduce  Herr  Karl 
Schurz,  the  German  philosopher,  to  an  audi- 
ence of  public  speaking,  and  one  night 
to  hear  him  lecture. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  feelings  as  I  faced 
the  assembly,  which  appeared  like  a  sea  of 
expectant  faces.  I  could  not  recognize  any 


84         THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

one  I  knew  until  suddenly  I  caught  sight  of 
my  father  standing  in  a  far-off  corner,  where 
he  towered  above  every  one  beside  him.  Our 
eyes  met,  and  a  magnetic  current  seemed  to 
pass  between  us.  I  quite  realized  his  anxiety 
that  I  should  acquit  myself  well,  and  do  credit 
to  the  family,  and  then  with  an  effort  I  com- 
menced to  speak. 

Strange  to  say  I  lost  my  nervousness,  for  I 
felt  that  I  was  simply  talking  to  my  father, 
and  to  him  alone.  My  speech  was  well  re- 
ceived, and,  as  we  walked  home,  my  father 
spoke  to  me  in  terms  of  encouragement. 
"Fred,"  said  he,  "there  is  one  thing  certain 
in  life — remember  that  each  success  should 
make  you  more  anxious  to  have  another.  It 
is  far  easier  to  slip  back  than  to  progress,  so 
bear  this  in  mind  whenever  you  feel  inclined 
to  sit  still  and  do  nothing." 

I  remember  an  interesting  episode  in  the 
history  of  my  Presidency  when  Mrs.  Moulton 
gave  a  concert  in  connection  with  our  Associa- 
tion. She  was  an  American  lady  who  had 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         85 

been  a  great  power  in  the  American  colony 
in  Paris,  and  who  had  been  honoured  with 
the  friendship  of  Napoleon  III  and  the 
Empress  Eugenie. 

In  those  days  Mrs.  Moulton  used  to  de- 
light the  habitues  of  the  Tuileries  with  her 
wonderful  singing,  but  after  her  husband's 
death  she  found  that  her  income  was  greatly 
reduced,  and  her  friends  persuaded  her  to 
take  up  singing  as  a  profession.  Mrs.  Moul- 
ton, therefore,  returned  to  America  and  com- 
menced a  tour,  her  first  appearance  being  at 
the  Albany  Association. 

The  house  was  packed,  and  people  came 
from  all  parts  of  the  surrounding  country  to 
hear  her  sing.  I  can  well  remember  how 
striking  Mrs.  Moulton  looked,  and,  as  I  led 
her  to  the  stage,  I  noticed  that  she  wore  a 
beautiful  emerald  bracelet.  "How  lovely!" 
I  exclaimed.  "Yes,  isn't  it,"  she  replied,  "the 
Emperor  gave  it  to  me  when  I  last  sang  at  the 
Tuileries.  Do  you  know,"  she  continued, 
looking  at  me  quizzically,  "I  can  hardly  be- 


86         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

lieve  that  a  mere  boy  like  you  can  possibly 
be  the  President  of  this  Association." 

I  was  rather  nettled,  for  a  young  man's 
vanity  is  proverbial,  but  I  answered  quickly, 
"Then,  dear  madam,  let  me  forget  my  youth 
and  help  me  to  make  this  concert  a  huge  suc- 
cess." I  think  this  request  must  have  appealed 
to  Mrs.  Moulton,  for  she  sang  divinely,  and 
the  entertainment  afforded  considerable  kudos 
for  all  concerned. 

A  few  months  afterwards  Mrs.  Moulton 
married  the  Danish  Minister,  M.  Hagerman, 
who  now  represents  Denmark  at  the  Court 
of  Berlin,  and  she  retains  to-day  all  the  charm 
of  manner  which  makes  the  entree  to  her 
salon  so  much  coveted. 

My  next  experience  was  when  I  "presented" 
Charlotte  Cushman  to  an  Albany  audience. 
The  great  actress  had  promised  to  give  a 
Shakespearian  reading,  and  as  I  had  not 
thought  it  would  be  necessary  to  speechify  on 
this  occasion,  I  was  very  much  startled  when  I 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         87 

heard  her  say,  "Now  be  sure  to  make  a  little 
speech  and  introduce  me!" 

I  must  confess  that  I  felt  rather  overawed 
by  the  actress,  whose  flashing  eyes  and  some- 
what haughty  demeanour  seemed  made  to 
command,  but  I  was  literally  tongue-tied,  and 
for  the  life  of  me  I  could  think  of  nothing  to 
say,  until  I  suddenly  remembered  a  story  I 
had  heard  from  my  mother  about  Charlotte 
Cushman's  first  bid  for  fame. 

I  then  told  the  assemblage  how  at  a  per- 
formance of  Guy  Mannering  the  leading  lady 
was  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  Miss  Cushman, 
then  an  unknown  actress,  was  called  upon  to 
play  the  part  of  Meg  Merrilies.  Her  success 
was  instantaneous ;  she  roused  the  audience  to 
such  enthusiasm  that  she  discovered  her 
power,  and  thus  inspired  with  belief  in  her- 
self she  entered  upon  her  wonderful  career. 
"And,"  I  concluded,  "she  stands  before  you 
to-night,  the  greatest  actress  of  her  day,  the 
Mrs.  Siddons  of  America." 


88         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

My  friendship  with  Charlotte  Cushman 
dated  from  that  little  speech,  and  she  loved  to 
tell  people  that  I  had  never  spoken  to  an 
actress  until  I  met  her.  She  was  a  charming 
woman,  and  when  I  think  of  her  I  always  re- 
call her  "Frederick,"  uttered  in  deep,  thrilling 
tones,  which  made  one  realize  that  one  was 
being  addressed  by  a  tragedy-queen. 

The  Association  did  not  take  up  all  my 
spare  time,  and  I  was  drawn  somewhat  in- 
sensibly into  the  military  life  when  I  entered 
as  a  private  in  the  Zouave  Cadets,  which  were 
a  company  of  the  loth  Regiment.  My  first 
parade  took  place  when  General  Sheridan 
came  to  Albany,  and  our  regiment  was  or- 
dered to  escort  him  to  the  Capitol.  I  passed 
my  home  with  a  great  deal  of  pride,  for  I  felt 
certain  that  my  father,  who  was  standing  out- 
side with  a  group  of  relations,  would  be  sure 
to  notice  me  and  my  martial  bearing.  Alas, 
for  the  vanity  of  youth !  I  received  a  terrible 
snub  when  I  returned  to  the  house  and  heard 
the  remark,  "Well,  Fred,  it  was  quite  im- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         89 

possible  to  make  you  out,  there  were  so  many, 
and  you  all  looked  alike." 

My  father  introduced  me  later  to  General 
Sheridan,  and  my  ambition  was  so  great  in 
those  days  that  I  rapidly  rose  from  lieutenant 
to  captain,  then  to  major,  from  major  to  lieu- 
tenant-colonel, and  ended  by  finishing  my 
military  career  as  colonel  on  Major-General 
Carr's  staff.  I  received  my  discharge  after 
serving  for  eleven  years  in  the  National  Army 
of  the  State  of  New  York. 

It  was  in  this  company  that  my  brother 
Bradley  made  his  first  parade  when  he  was 
ordered  to  escort  the  body  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln from  the  station  to  the  Capitol  at  Albany, 
there  to  lie  in  state  for  the  night  in  order 
that  the  citizens  could  show  their  respect  for 
America's  greatest  President. 

The  President's  progress  was  very  impres- 
sive, as  the  corpse  was  conveyed  by  slow  stages 
from  city  to  city  until  it  reached  its  final  rest- 
ing-place at  Springfield,  Illinois,  and  I  re- 
member how  proud  we  all  felt  of  Bradley's 


90         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

vigil  of  twenty-four  hours,  when,  as  one  of  the 
sentinels,  he  guarded  the  remains  of  Abraham 
Lincoln.  After  this  Bradley  received  his  com- 
mission as  lieutenant  in  the  New  York  State 
Volunteers,  and  served  until  the  end  of  the 
Civil  War. 

At  this  time  my  occupations  and  interests 
were  varied.  I  had  plenty  to  do  with  the 
Association,  my  legal  studies  represented 
hours  of  steady  work,  and  long  before  I  was 
permitted  to  vote  I  worked  politically  for 
General  Grant's  election.  My  love  of  or- 
ganization was  a  salient  feature  in  those  early 
days,  and  I  delighted  to  bring  together  tal- 
ented people;  indeed  my  love  of  entertaining 
rather  startled  my  father,  who  thought  I  had 
ideas  beyond  my  age.  But  he  did  not  inter- 
fere with  my  pleasures,  and  my  frequent  visits 
to  my  relations  in  New  York  broadened  my 
mind  and  enabled  me  to  get  more  and  more 
in  touch  with  people  worth  knowing. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Newport  in  the  days  of  my  youth:  The  present 
town  of  palaces:  Mrs.  Paran  Stevens:  A  great 
social  leader:  Her  sister  Miss  Fanny  Reed:  Sung 
into  society:  A  Patti  of  the  salons:  A  concert 
during  the  war:  Mrs.  Stevens  and  Mr.  Travers: 
"Cold  tea,  hot  Apollinaris,  and  bad  music":  The 
Griswold  Grays:  An  ideal  cottage:  Two  dinners: 
Beauty  and  brains:  The  fountain:  Why  the  ceil- 
ing fell  down:  Peter  Marie:  A  gentleman  of  the 
old  school:  His  poetical  tendencies:  Invitations 
in  verse:  Newport's  vanished  charm:  Belle  Vue 
Avenue  of  to-day:  Motors  and  millionaires: 
Artificiality  ever  present:  A  trip  to  Europe:  My 
dreams  are  realized:  The  old  Russia:  Fourteen 
days  at  sea:  We  arrive  in  London:  The  State 
entry  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Edinburgh:  A 
snowy  reception:  I  see  Queen  Victoria:  Her 
strength  of  character:  On  the  balcony  of  Buck- 
ingham Palace:  Prince  Eddy  and  Prince  George: 
Alone  in  London:  Another  imposing  sight:  The 
funeral  of  Napoleon  III:  All  is  vanity:  The 
Prince  Imperial:  A  gallant  figure:  A  procession 
91 


92         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

of  Imperialists :  Shattered  hopes :  One  whom  death 
has  forgotten:  The  Empress  Eugenie:  Vive  1'Em- 
pereur :  We  return  to  London :  I  write  an  'account 
of  our  experiences :  The  lost  art  of  letter  writing : 
The  cable  saves  a  sheet  of  note-paper 

THE  Newport  of  my  young  days  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  town  which  it  now  is.  I  re- 
member it  as  a  charming  countrified  watering- 
place  to  which  people  went  on  account  of  its 
natural  attractions,  and  I  must  say  I  preferred 
its  vanished  rose-embowered  houses  and  cot- 
tages to  the  marble  palaces  that  have  taken 
their  place. 

It  was  during  my  first  visit  to  Newport  that 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Paran  Ste- 
vens, one  of  the  great  social  leaders  in  New 
York.  She  was  a  tall,  handsome  brunette  with 
a  magnetic  personality,  who  dressed  in  ex- 
quisite taste,  and  whose  position  as  a  hostess 
was  unassailable.  Mrs,  Stevens  had  a  charm- 
ing sister,  Miss  Fannie  Reed,  and  those  who 
remember  her  delightful  voice  will  also  recall 
how  every  one  flocked  to  Mrs.  Stevens's  Musi- 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         93 

cales  to  hear  Miss  Fanny  sing;  indeed  it  was 
said  that  she  had  sung  her  sister  into  society. 
One  day,  when  I  was  talking  to  Miss  Reed,  I 
complimented  her  on  possessing  her  great  gift 
and  upon  the  applause  which  overwhelmed 
her  whenever  she  sang. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Martin,"  she  replied,  "I  am 
always  happy  when  I  can  give  pleasure  to 
others,  but  my  supreme  triumph  was  at  a  con- 
cert given  in  Newport  at  the  time  of  the  Civil 
War.  There  were  many  Southerners  present, 
and  Mrs.  Charles  Kuhn  was  foremost  in  the 
work  of  organizing  the  entertainment,  for  we 
were  badly  in  need  of  funds  to  provide  com- 
forts for  the  wounded  soldiers.  Mrs.  Julia 
Ward  Howe,  the  authoress,  and  Mr.  August 
Belmont  were  on  the  committee,  and  they 
asked  me — 

"'What  will  you  sing,  Miss  Reed?' 

"I  instantly  mentioned  Mrs.  Howe's  beauti- 
ful poem  on  the  abolition  of  slavery,  Til  sing 
that'  I  said. 

"  'Oh,  no,'  came  from  many  voices,  'impos- 


94         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

sible,  it  would  never  do;  why,  those  in  favour 
of  the  South  would  get  up  and  leave  the 


room.' 


'"Never  mind,'  I  answered,  Tve  the  cour- 
age to  sing  it;'  so  the  poem  was  arranged  for 
orchestra  and  chorus,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
my  feelings  as  I  stood  on  the  platform  and 
looked  at  the  crowded  audience.  I  began — 

"  'Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 

Lord. 
In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born.' 

"and  then  came  the  refrain — 

"  'As  He  died  to  make  men  free, 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy.' 

"I  glanced  at  Mrs.  Howe  who  was  crying 
quietly,  and  I  could  see  that  Mr.  Belmont  was 
profoundly  moved.  Several  elderly  ladies 
were  in  tears,  but  not  a  Southerner  present  had 
risen  to  go. 

"When  I  had  finished  I  was  asked  by  sev- 
eral people:  'How  is  it  possible  for  you  to 
affect  us  so  powerfully?' 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER         95 

"  Well,'  I  replied,  (I  suppose  I  must  sing 
with  the  help  of  God.'  " 

Miss  Reed  possessed  a  wonderful  person- 
ality, and  later,  when  she  made  her  home  in 
Paris,  it  was  noticed  that  there  was  a  decided 
falling  off  in  Mrs.  Stevens's  Sunday  night 
concerts;  indeed,  it  was  common  gossip  that 
one  only  heard  the  worst  music  on  those  oc- 
casions. A  propos  of  this,  I  remember  an 
amusing  passage  of  arms  between  Mrs.  Ste- 
vens and  the  well-known  wit  Mr.  Travers. 

"Well,  Mr.  Travers,  I  was  beginning  to 
think  you  had  quite  forgotten  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Stevens,  when  Travers  presented  himself  one 
Sunday  night  after  a  prolonged  absence. 

"My  dear  lady,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
resist  the  magnetism  of  your  charming  society, 
although  I  know  it  only  draws  me  back  to  cold 
tea,  hot  Apollinaris  and  bad  music,"  replied 
Mr.  Travers. 

"Never  mind  these  trifling  drawbacks," 
answered  the  lady,  "I  think  you  find  ample 
compensation  for  them  when  you  know  that  at 


96         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

my  musicales  you  meet  all  the  most  charming 
and  civil  people  of  the  day." 

I  once  said  to  Mrs.  Stevens,  "You  don't 
know  what  people  say  about  your  Sunday 
evenings,  they  call  it  Sabbath  breaking." 

"Do  they  indeed?"  she  replied,  with  im- 
perial disdain.  "They  say.  What  do  they 
say?  Then  let  them  say."  And  this  answer 
was  absolutely  typical  of  Mrs.  Stevens,  as  it 
expressed  her  whole  character  in  a  few  words. 
She  was  a  delightful  woman,  and  I  have  often 
heard  her  say  when  any  spiteful  gossip  was 
repeated  to  her,  "Yes,  that  may  be,  but  don't 
you  think  the  best  motto  in  life  is  'Live  and 
let  live'?" 

Mrs.  Paran  Stevens  built  a  modern  house 
in  Newport,  which  was  considered  quite  an 
improvement  on  the  older  residences,  but  I 
must  say  that  I  preferred  the  low,  ram- 
bling, flower-covered  cottage  occupied  by  the 
Griswold  Grays. 

Mrs.  Griswold  Gray  was  one  of  the  beau- 
tiful Miss  Irvins  of  New  York,  and  I  have 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         97 

always  thought  of  her  home  as  the  ideal  cot- 
tage, which  is  so  hard  to  find.  I  can  picture 
the  quaint  drawing-room  where  the  walls  were 
hung  with  pink-patterned  chintz,  and  I  can 
almost  see  the  tangle  of  vines  and  Japanese 
roses  which  peeped  in  at  the  windows.  Every- 
thing was  cheerful  and  bright,  and  the  mo- 
ment I  crossed  the  threshold  I  felt  I  was  in 
an  atmosphere  of  charm  and  refinement. 

George  Griswold  Gray  had  always  been  a 
figure  in  society,  and  he  achieved  fame  as  a 
bachelor  on  account  of  his  dinners,  which  set 
all  New  York  talking.  He  announced  before- 
hand that  he  meant  to  give  two  parties,  one  a 
"Beauty  Dinner,"  and  the  other  an  "Intellec- 
tual Dinner,"  with  the  result  that  half  the 
women  were  puzzling  themselves  over  the 
question  of  whether  it  was  better  to  be  a  wit 
or  a  beauty. 

The  host  was  nothing  if  not  original,  and 
at  the  "Beauty  Dinner"  the  table  was  arranged 
round  a  fountain,  which  threw  up  a  jet  of 
water  almost  to  the  ceiling.  All  went  well 


98         THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

during  the  evening,  but  on  the  following  day 
when  George's  mother  returned  from  Boston, 
she  found  the  ceiling  reposing  on  the  floor,  as 
the  watery  atmosphere  had  worn  it  out  most 
effectually. 

I  remember  meeting  Mr.  Peter  Marie  at 
Newport,  and  when  I  asked  a  lady  to  tell  me 
who  he  was,  I  received  the  crushing  answer, 
"I  should  advise  you  never  to  ask  that  ques- 
tion, Mr.  Martin,  for  it  proclaims  you  to  be  a 
nonentity  here." 

Mr.  Marie  was  an  old  bachelor,  who  had 
spent  most  of  his  life  in  study  and  travel,  and 
whose  collection  of  snuff-boxes  was  unrivalled. 
He  had  picked  up  many  art  treasures  during 
his  wanderings,  and  his  parties  were  famous, 
for  at  them  one  could  always  reckon  to  meet 
most  charming  people.  He  was  of  a  poetical 
turn  and  once  gave  a  remarkable  dinner,  for 
which  the  invitations  were  written  in  poetry, 
and  those  invited  were  asked  to  respond  in 
verse.  A  beautiful  prize  was  awarded  to  the 
guest  who  composed  the  best  answer,  and  I 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER         99 

believed  that  Miss  Lampson,  now  Lady 
Drummond,  was  the  winner. 

Peter  Marie  and  Ward  McAllister  were 
"Brummellian"  types,  but  whereas  Marie  was 
content  to  take  life  as  he  found  it,  McAllister 
was  always  progressive,  feverish  and  restless. 
His  social  rival  represented  the  rapidly  disap- 
pearing old  French  type;  he  looked  like  an 
aristocrat  of  the  time  of  Louis  XV,  and  pos- 
sessed all  the  polished  manners  of  the  period. 

I  often  look  back  to  those  quiet  days  at 
Newport  with  positive  regret.  Then  it  was  a 
place  where  one  went  to  meet  friends,  not  to 
make  them;  culture  and  charm  were  the  pass- 
ports into  society,  but  now  wealth  seems  to 
be  the  Golden  Key  which  unlocks  most  doors 
in  this  place  of  rich  men's  houses. 

Belle  Vue  Avenue,  with  its  melee  of  expen- 
sive cars  and  their  expensive  owners,  is  as 
artificial  as  the  unnatural-looking  clumps  of 
hydrangea  which  is  Newport's  favourite 
flower.  What  a  contrast  to  the  dignified 
Avenue  as  I  remember  it!  But  it  is  an  age 


100       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

of  change,  and  Newport  has  shared  the  uni- 
versal fate. 

After  my  return  from  Newport  my  father 
decided  that  I  was  working  at  too  many 
things,  and  that  a  trip  to  Europe  would  be 
beneficial  to  me.  "Above  all  things  remem- 
ber, Fred,  that  travel,  taken  seriously,  will  not 
fail  to  sharpen  your  intellect  and  increase  your 
powers  of  observation,"  he  remarked.  And 
this  advice,  though  obvious,  was  sound. 

So  at  last  the  dreams  of  my  childhood  were 
about  to  be  realized.  Years  had  passed  since 
I  stood  on  the  old  Battery  and  felt  the  kiss  of 
the  salt  wind  on  my  face  and  listened  to  the 
lure  of  calling  lands.  I  was  to  see  the  Old 
World  with  its  traditions,  its  romances,  its 
history.  I  could  visit  the  scenes  which  had 
appealed  to  me  in  song  and  story;  I  was  eman- 
cipated from  the  domination  of  home — in 
short,  a  new  life  lay  before  me.  But  in  the 
midst  of  my  happiness  I  missed  the  beloved 
dead.  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  been 
able  to  talk  with  those  two  sympathetic  listen- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       101 

ers  who  had  always  received  and  appreciated 
my  confidences,  and  the  thought  of  them  made 
me  sad. 

My  brother  Howard  and  I  booked  our  pas- 
sages on  the  old  Cunarder  Russia,  which  was 
then  considered  the  line's  smartest  boat.  The 
journey  took  fourteen  days  and  the  weather 
was  tempestuous ;  indeed  at  one  time  we  only 
made  sixty-five  miles  in  twenty-four  hours. 

We  arrived  in  London  just  in  time  to  wit- 
ness the  state  entry  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Edinburgh  after  their  marriage.  Owing 
to  the  influx  of  people  it  was  somewhat  diffi- 
cult to  get  accommodation,  but  my  brother 
and  I  found  rooms  in  the  old-fashioned 
Craven  Hotel,  which  was  then  a  quaint  place, 
quite  Dickensian  in  character. 

The  next  morning  we  were  up  early  and  had 
the  luck  to  secure  good  seats  to  view  the  pro- 
cession. The  weather  (perhaps  out  of  compli- 
ment to  the  bride's  nationality)  was  almost 
Siberian.  The  snow  fell  steadily,  and  every 


102       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

one  turned  up  in  furs  and  mufflers,  while  the 
streets  were  gusty  strongholds  of  wind  and 
occasional  showers  of  sleet.  The  outlook  was 
miserable;  the  very  banners,  weighted  with 
snow,  hung  despondently  from  the  poles;  it 
was  a  depressing  scene,  although  the  warmth 
which  the  weather  lacked  was  not  wanting  in 
the  beaming  faces  of  the  spectators,  who 
seemed  determined  to  give  the  Duchess  a 
hearty  welcome. 

Queen  Victoria  looked  remarkably  well  in 
her  black  silk  gown  and  miniver-trimmed 
jacket,  and  the  Duke  of  Edinburgh  was  a 
handsome  figure  in  naval  uniform.  I  thought 
the  bride  looked  charming  in  her  mantle  of 
Imperial  purple,  but  she  was  nervous,  and 
perhaps  this  accounted  for  the  impression  of 
coldness  and  hauteur  which  struck  the  crowd. 

The  Queen  passed  close  to  us,  and  although 
she  could  not,  even  in  those  days,  have  been 
considered  beautiful,  still  her  face  was  no- 
ticeable on  account  of  its  strength  and  char- 
acter. I  was  reminded  irresistibly  of  my 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       103 

Grandmother  Martin  when  I  looked  at  Queen 
Victoria,  and  I  thought  she  seemed  to  possess 
a  little  of  the  austerity  which  had  so  charac- 
terized my  relative. 

Directly  the  procession  had  passed  we  made 
our  way  through  the  good-natured  crowds 
until  at  last  we  reached  Buckingham  Palace, 
where  we  saw  the  Queen  come  out  on  the 
balcony  leading  her  little  grandsons,  Prince 
Eddy  and  the  present  King,  by  the  hand.  As 
she  stood  there,  bowing  her  acknowledgments 
to  her  subjects'  greeting,  I  felt  a  thrill  of  ex- 
citement, unknown  perhaps  to  an  Englishman. 
I  came  from  a  Republic  that  scorned  the 
trappings  of  Courts,  and  only  gave  allegiance 
to  Liberty;  as  an  American  I  ought  not  to 
have  been  so  tremendously  impressed,  but 
perhaps  the  spirit  of  some  ancestor  who  had 
served  his  king  in  the  way  that  loyal  men 
have  done  stirred  within  me  when  I  saw 
England's  great  Queen. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  this 
memorable  day  was  a  torchlight  procession 


104       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

down  the  Embankment,  and  my  brother  and 
I  paid  the  penalty  of  our  whole-hearted  curi- 
osity in  remaining  out  to  see  it.  We  returned 
to  the  hotel  half  dead  with  cold,  and  I  was 
ill  for  two  or  three  days,  a  prisoner  in  an 
old-fashioned  bedroom  with  its  high  "four- 
poster,"  which  always  seemed  guarded  by  an 
army  of  shadows.  I  experienced  a  bad  attack 
of  home-sickness,  which  was  far  worse  than 
bodily  pain  to  me,  but  I  soon  got  over  it,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  my  brother  and  I  were 
out  and  about  again.  My  father  had  not  pro- 
vided us  with  any  letters  of  introduction  to 
Americans  in  London;  his  idea  was  to  teach 
us  self-reliance,  and  no  doubt  he  was  right.  "I 
trust  you  both,"  he  said,  before  we  left  home, 
"you  are  my  sons;  you  know  my  opinions,  so 
there  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  what  to 
do,  and  what  not  to  do.  Behave  like  gentle- 
men, use  your  eyes,  believe  in  yourselves,  and 
you  won't  go  far  wrong." 

We   certainly  felt  just  a   litle   lonely   in 
London,  and  I  remember  that  one  Sunday  in 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       105 

Hyde  Park  we  felt  rather  out  of  it  when  we 
saw  the  constant  interchange  of  greetings  be- 
tween friends  and  acquaintances. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  odd  not  to  know  a  soul 
here,  even  by  sight?"  observed  Howard. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "but  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  that  one  day  I  will  know  most  of  the 
people  here  who  are  worth  knowing." 

Howard  smiled  at  what  seemed  to  him  a 
piece  of  presumption,  but  I  really  meant 
what  I  said,  and  eventually  I  carried  out  my 
intention. 

We  were  lucky  enough  to  witness  another 
imposing  sight  during  our  first  visit  to  Eng- 
land, but  this  time  it  was  a  funeral  procession. 
One  day  we  heard  the  newsboys  calling  out, 
"Death  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon,"  and  we 
at  once  determined  to  see  his  funeral,  for  we 
judged  it  would  be  a  most  impressive  sight. 

Chislehurst  was  then  far  more  countrified 
than  it  is  now,  and  on  the  day  of  the  Emperor's 
burial  it  might  well  have  been  a  village  in 
France,  as  every  one  seemed  to  be  speaking 


106       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

French.  My  brother  and  I  were  able  to  get 
places  in  the  first  row  of  the  spectators,  and 
I  was  deeply  moved  at  the  dignity  and  sad- 
ness which  characterized  the  proceedings. 

The  ceremony  was  an  object-lesson  in  the 
vanity  of  earthly  hopes.  The  Napoleonic 
dynasty,  so  great  in  its  rise,  so  tragic  in  its  fall, 
seemed  to  have  brought  nothing  but  ruin  and 
disasters  to  its  members  and  their  adherents, 
and  as  I  watched  the  distinguished  Frenchmen 
who  followed  the  coffin  of  Napoleon  III,  I 
marvelled  that  their  influence  had  not  proved 
sufficient  to  establish  him  mere  firmly  on  the 
throne. 

It  was  a  simple  funeral.  The  Prince  Im- 
perial walked  immediately  behind  the  hearse; 
he  was  bareheaded,  and  his  sad  blue  eyes 
looked  as  if  they  were  trying  to  pierce  the 
casket  which  contained  the  body  of  his  be- 
loved father.  He  was  deeply  moved,  but  his 
demeanour  was  full  of  dignity  as  he  led  the 
procession  of  Imperialists  who  centred  their 
future  hopes  upon  him. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       107 

I  was  greatly  struck  by  the  likeness  of 
Jerome  Bonaparte  to  the  portraits  of  Napo- 
leon I ;  there  was  a  crowd  of  Princes,  and  all 
the  leaders  of  the  Imperialist  party  seemed  to 
have  foregathered  to  pay  a  last  tribute  of  re- 
spect to  the  unfortunate  Emperor. 

But  most  of  those  who  were  present  are 
now  passed  over.  The  gallant  Prince  Im- 
perial has  gone  to  his  long  rest,  and  the  Em- 
press is  the  only  one  of  that  ill-fated  house 
whom  Death  seems  to  have  forgotten.  The 
glories  of  the  Second  Empire,  the  splendid 
days  of  the  Tuileries,  when  Eugenie  en- 
thralled Napoleon,  only  to  give  France  a 
legacy  of  blood  and  tears,  belong  to  an  era 
about  which  the  younger  generation  merely 
reads.  There  remains  but  an  old  woman  who 
still  hedges  herself  around  with  the  stately 
ceremonial  which  was  once  so  dear  to  her,  and 
which  has  placed  her  among  the  great  lonely 
ones  of  the  world. 

I  was  especially  impressed  by  the  number 
of  blouse-wearing  workmen  who  attended  the 


108       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

funeral.  It  seemed  wonderful  to  think  they 
could  spare  the  time  and  money  to  come 
over,  but  I  thought  their  presence  was  a  hope- 
ful sign  for  the  Imperialists,  as  it  showed  that 
the  masses  were  not  out  of  sympathy  with 
the  Empire,  and  that  they  were  still  swayed 
by  the  magic  name  of  Napoleon. 

As  the  Prince  Imperial  passed  down  the 
long  avenue  of  elms  and  entered  the  home 
of  his  exile,  a  workman,  who  seemed  to  be 
the  leader  of  his  party,  called  out  in  clear, 
ringing  tones,  "May  you  one  day  return  to 
rule  over  us.  Vive  1'Empereur!"  With  in- 
describable enthusiasm  the  cry  was  echoed 
by  thousands  of  voices,  and  as  "Vive  1'Em- 
pereur!" woke  the  silnece  with  its  thrill  of 
loyalty  and  hope,  I  am  sure  there  were  few 
among  the  mourners  who  thought  that  the 
young  Prince  was  not  destined  to  sit  on  the 
throne  of  the  Bonapartes  and  to  revive  the 
glory  and  prosperity  of  France. 

We  returned  to  London  with  the  feeling 
that  we  had  witnessed  an  historical  event,  and 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       109 

I  remember  sending  my  father  a  long  account 
of  the  funeral.  Autres  temps,  autres  mczurs! 
In  those  days  boys  were  fairly  good  corre- 
spondents, and  it  was  not  considered  infra  dig. 
to  express  one's  emotions  on  paper,  but  things 
have  changed  since  then,  and  now  when  young 
America  is  abroad  it  usually  cables  to  the  old 
folks  at  home,  for  letter-writing  looks  as  if  it 
had  become  one  of  the  lost  arts. 


CHAPTER  V 

Paris:  Memories  of  Malmaison :  Two  bad  Queens: 
La  Grande  Duchesse :  Fair  Sinners :  A  clergyman's 
daughter:  My  compatriots:  Mrs.  Moore:  Mrs. 
Ayers  defies  Time:  A  salon  at  seventy:  The 
Baronne  de  la  Selliere:  Emma  Eames:  I  meet 
Sargent :  Bonnet  and  Carolus  Duran :  Rodin :  His 
personality:  The  tragic  eyes  of  Madame  X:  I 
hear  her  story:  A  callous  mother:  Society  is 
shocked:  Miss  Reed:  "The  finder  of  stars": 
Sybil  Saunderson:  She  sings  to  Massenet:  Her 
success:  She  introduces  Mary  Garden  to  Miss 
Reed:  A  woman  of  temperament:  Madame 
Melba:  The  meaning  of  work:  Melba  memories: 
A  cake-walk  at  Palm  Beach :  Alone  in  New  York : 
Ministers  and  their  wives:  The  right  people: 
How  Mrs.  Henry  White  separated  the  sheep  from 
the  goats:  Mrs.  Whitelaw  Reid:  General  Porter: 
The  McCormicks :  Mr.  Goodrich  and  Loie  Fuller 

WE  left  London  for  France  immediately  after 
the  funeral  of  Napoleon  III,  for  we  had  de- 
cided to  spend  a  short  time  in  Paris  before 

going  further  south. 

no 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       111 

When  we  arrived  in  Paris  we  found  the  city 
still  bleeding  from  the  wounds  inflicted  by  the 
Commune,  and  indeed  something  of  the  horror 
of  those  days  seemed  present  in  the  air.  The 
Arc  de  Triomphe  was  riddle  with  shell,  and 
looked  deplorable;  the  Tuileries  were  in  ruins, 
and  the  Hotel  de  Ville  was  only  just  rebuilt; 
but  I  think  I  first  realized  the  ruthless- 
ness  of  war  when  I  visited  Malmaison,  which 
had  been  converted  into  barracks,  and  the 
very  walls  seemed  to  cry  shame  upon  their 
desecration. 

The  Salle  d'Honneur,  where  Josephine  had 
often  welcomed  Napoleon,  was  almost  dis- 
mantled, but  the  arras  was  still  hanging  there. 
Malmaison  was  infinitely  pathetic  in  its  decay; 
I  admired  the  beautiful  park,  which  was  so 
much  more  attractive  to  me  than  the  elaborate 
garden  of  Versailles,  and  I  pictured  Josephine 
as  she  wandered  down  the  pretty  avenue,  alone 
with  her  memories  of  the  days  before  she  had 
been  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  Imperial 
ambition. 


112       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

The  romance  of  royal  residences  has  always 
appealed  to  me,  and  I  think  I  could  have 
spent  hours  dreaming  over  the  past  at  Ver- 
sailles or  Fontainebleau,  but  my  brother  in- 
sisted that  we  should  thoroughly  "do"  Paris, 
more  especially  as  our  stay  was  to  be  short, 
for  "you  are  not  to  remain  long  in  Paris,  and 
you  are  not  to  go  to  the  play,"  wrote  my  father. 

I  used  to  think  that  the  saying,  "Paris  est 
le  monde,"  was  a  somewhat  sweeping  asser- 
tion, but  I  felt  it  was  partly  true  when  I  saw 
how  people  of  all  nations  seemed  drawn  to  the 
Ville  Lumiere.  One  of  my  greatest  pleasures 
has  always  been  to  watch  the  gay  world  in  the 
drive,  for  by  the  laws  of  gravitation  one  so 
often  sees  the  friend  last  met  with  in  a  dis- 
tant corner  of  the  world.  I  frequently  ob- 
served the  two  ex-Queens  of  Spain  driving 
together,  Isabella  and  her  mother  Christina, 
whose  shocking  example  contributed  to  her 
daughter's  downfall,  although  Schneider,  the 
"Grande  Duchessee"  of  immortal  memory, 
had  perhaps  more  to  do  with  Isabella's  over- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       113 

throw,  for  Offenbach's  Opera,  which  was  a 
keen  satire  on  the  Spanish  Court,  presented 
the  Queen  in  a  highly  ridiculous  light,  and 
made  her  subjects  thoroughly  disgusted  with 
her. 

I  also  saw  certain  ladies  whose  careers  would 
have  made  Albany  gasp  with  horror.  One  in 
particular,  who  wrought  havoc  wherever  she 
went,  was,  sad  to  say,  a  clergyman's  daughter 
from  Philadelphia,  but  the  only  religious  pre- 
cept to  which  she  strictly  adhered  was  a 
charitable  love  of  all  mankind. 

Cora  Pearl  was  another  striking-looking 
sinner  in  the  monstrous  legion  of  women  who 
wreck  the  lives  of  men,  and  whose  supreme 
selfishness  knows  no  pity  nor  consideration. 
Their  creed  is  the  old  exhortation,  "Let  us 
eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to-morrow  we 
die." 

My  first  visit  to  Paris  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression, and  in  later  years  I  have  spent  many 
happy  times  there.  The  Paris  of  to-day  is  a 
very  different  place  from  the  city  of  my  youth, 


114       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

and  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
city  is  best  described  as  a  fiery  furnace  in 
which  weaker  metals  are  speedily  dissolved. 

Aristocratic  French  life  has  not  been  able 
to  withstand  the  American  invasion,  and 
American  gold  has  removed  the  barriers  of 
the  old  regime  and  infused  some  gaiety  and 
large-mindedness  into  a  priest-ridden  society. 
American  women  are  not  so  powerful,  how- 
ever, in  Paris  as  they  are  in  London,  and  I 
am  inclined  to  put  this  down  to  the  difference 
of  religion  and  the  influence  of  the  Church, 
which  dominates  the  families  of  the  Faubourg. 

My  charming  compatriots  do  not  trouble 
over  obstacles,  and  they  usually  manage  to 
have  the  best  that  life  can  give  them.  Priests 
or  no  priests,  they  invariably  continue  to  make 
their  presence  felt,  and  I  think  that  Mrs. 
William  Moore  is  a  typical  example  of  what 
an  American  woman  can  accomplish  in  a 
foreign  city. 

As  Miss  Kate  Robinson  of  New  York  she 
married  William  Moore,  a  fairly  rich  Ameri- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       115 

can,  and  when  she  settled  in  Paris  her  little 
apartment  was  the  rendezvous  of  a  very  pleas- 
ant set.  But  Mrs.  Moore  aimed  high,  and 
when  she  removed  to  the  Avenue  Marceau 
she  gradually  sifted  out  a  certain  American 
element  and  determined  to  conquer  the  im- 
pregnable Faubourg.  She  understood  the 
whole  art  of  knowing  Who's  Who,  without 
mixing  them,  and  her  success  was  furthered 
by  the  social  prestige  given  her  by  her  friend- 
ship with  the  late  King  Edward,  who  de- 
lighted in  her  wit  and  courage. 

Mrs.  Moore's  judgment  is  essentially  sound, 
but  (and  may  I  be  forgiven)  I  fancy  this 
charming  lady  is  more  governed  by  her  head 
than  her  heart.  A  certain  hostess  lately  gave 
a  gorgeous  entertainment,  for  which  the 
Russian  ballet  was  engaged  "regardless  of 
cost." 

"Well,  Kate,  are  you  going?"  asked  a 
friend. 

"Why,  no,"  answered  Mrs.  Moore,  "I'm  not 
going." 


116       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

"How  odd,  you  used  to  know  the  X.'s  so 
well." 

"Possibly;  but,  my  dear,  I  couldn't  afford 
to  do  so  now,  for  I  see  signs  of  the  setting  sun 
in  that  family,"  observed  Mrs.  Moore  in  ac- 
cents which  left  no  doubt  as  to  the  finality  of 
her  decision.  Such  conduct  may  be  deemed 
snobbish,  and  may  possibly  be  open  to  severe 
criticism,  but  with  the  class  of  American- 
French  women  which  Mrs.  Moore  represents 
the  unchanging  rule  is  only  to  know  the  best 
people  in  the  sense  that  Society  uses  the  word. 

Of  course,  most  blatant  snobbishness  exists, 
and  I  remember  a  hostess  who  paid  a  large 
sum  of  money  to  a  French  Duchess  with  an 
historic  name  solely  for  the  great  lady  to  "walk 
on"  at,  or  rather  "through"  her  reception. 
The  Duchess,  to  give  her  credit,  did  not  keep 
the  money,  but  gave  it  to  the  Church,  and 
doubtless  she  was  fully  consoled  for  the  pen- 
ance she  had  undergone. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  women  I  have 
ever  met  started  a  "salon"  with  wonderful 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       117 

success  at  the  age  of  seventy!  This  lady  was 
a  Mrs.  Ayers,  who  hailed  from  Lowell, 
Massachusetts,  and  who  came  to  Paris  in 
order  to  try  and  lead  a  bigger  and  more  eman- 
cipated life  than  she  had  done  in  America. 

Money  was  abundant  with  Mrs.  Ayers,  who 
possessed  marvellous  jewels,  which  comprised 
pearls  of  untold  value,  and  the  historic 
Mazarin  diamonds.  She  was  a  little,  shrunken 
old  lady  who  clung  to  life  with  grim  deter- 
mination, and  whose  yellow  wig  breathed  such 
audacious  defiance  at  Time  that  the  tyrant 
seemed  anxious  to  forget  her. 

Mrs.  Ayers  first  stayed  at  the  Continental, 
but  Miss  Reed  persuaded  her  to  take  a  hotel 
and  entertain  lavishly,  so  negotiations  were 
entered  into  for  the  purpose  of  a  beautiful 
mansion.  One  morning  the  old  lady  went  out 
to  inspect  the  alterations  which  were  being 
made  at  her  new  house,  but  as  she  was  cross- 
ing the  street  her  foot  slipped  and  she  fell, 
with  arms  outstretched  to  save  herself.  Un- 
fortunately a  fiacre  was  passing,  and  the 


118       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

wheels  passed  over  Mrs.  Ayers'  wrists  and 
broke  them. 

One  would  have  imagined  that  such  a  shock 
would  put  an  end  to  all  dreams  of  being  queen 
of  a  salon,  but  nothing  of  the  kind.  Mrs. 
Ayers'  wrists  were  put  in  plaster  of  Paris, 
and  the  indomitable  lady  refused  to  allow  that 
she  had  met  with  a  serious  accident.  With 
Miss  Reed's  assistance  she  threw  open  her 
lovely  house,  and  her  entertainments  became 
famous. 

I  can  picture  Mrs.  Ayers  as  I  used  to  see 
her,  leaning  on  her  gold-headed  stick  and 
smiling  graciously  at  her  guests  from  beneath 
an  aureole  of  yellow  curls,  but  her  strange 
juvenile  appearance  was  not  lacking  in  dig- 
nity, and  her  late  bid  for  social  success  was 
entirely  satisfactory.  At  first  her  receptions 
were  only  attended  by  the  French  aristocracy, 
as  some  of  the  American  leaders  declared  they 
"didn't  know  her  at  home,"  but  gradually  they 
fell  into  line,  and  Mrs.  Ayers  realized  her 
fondest  hopes  and  found  herself  surrounded 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       119 

with  a  coterie  of  ultra-smart  people.  She  and 
I  became  great  friends ;  alone  with  me  she  was 
perfectly  natural,  and  I  was  greatly  amused 
at  her  powers  of  observation  and  keen  insight 
into  human  nature.  "These  people  think 
they're  using  me,"  she  would  remark,  with  a 
chuckle,  "but  they  are  wrong,  for  I  tell  you, 
Fred  Martin,  I'm  using  them  all  the  time, 
although  they  never  suspect  it." 

Mrs.  Ayers  had  an  intense  horror  of  death, 
and  she  often  told  me  she  hoped  she  would 
never  know  when  her  hour  had  come.  Her 
wish  was  granted,  for  one  morning  when  the 
maid  went  to  waken  her  the  knock  was  un- 
answered. Mrs.  Ayers  had  passed  away  in 
her  sleep;  she  looked  perfectly  peaceful  and 
happy,  and  her  little  pet  dog  still  slept  in 
ignorance  of  what  had  happened  to  its 
mistress. 

I  shall  never  forget  this  dweller  in  Vanity 
Fair,  and  I  think  the  story  of  Mrs.  Ayers'  so- 
cial career  proves  what  one  full  of  firm  pur- 
pose can  do.  Here  was  a  woman  who  had 


120       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

been  repressed  year  after  year,  and  who  had 
lived  in  a  groove  seemingly  contented,  but 
who  yielded  to  the  insistent  demand  of  her 
inner  self  for  a  larger  life.  A  trivial  triumph, 
you  will  hear  the  moralist  say.  Perhaps  so, 
but  a  triumph  of  the  kind  at  seventy  is  surely 
worth  recording. 

Another  character  in  Parisian  society  was 
the  Baronne  de  la  Selliere,  formerly  Mrs. 
Livermore,  who  lived  in  the  next  house  to 
Mrs.  Ayers  and  entertained  on  the  same  ex- 
tensive scale.  She  was  a  charming  woman, 
and  her  sister-in-law,  the  Princess  de  Sagan, 
always  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  Baronne 
to  become  quite  French  in  her  appearance. 

"You've  no  idea  how  beautiful  your  white 
hair  looks,"  I  once  said  to  her. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  replied  the  Baronne; 
"well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  in  the  strictest 
confidence,  that  the  Princesse  de  Sagan  in- 
sists that  I  shall  never  be  really  smart  until 
I  dye  my  hair  red." 

The  Princesse  de  Sagan  was  not  happily 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       121 

married,  but  she  wore  her  rue  with  dignity, 
and  the  fashionable  world  never  suspected  that 
differences  existed,  or  that  her  husband  was 
paid  £2000  to  stand  by  occasionally  and  help 
his  wife  to  receive  her  guests  at  the  Palais 
Talleyrand. 

Mrs.  Stephen  Pell  was  a  complete  contrast 
to  Mrs.  Ayers  and  the  Baronne  de  la  Selliere. 
Her  role  was  a  serious  one;  she  never  lost  any 
of  her  Puritanical  ideas,  or  favoured  the  elab- 
orate chiffons  so  beloved  by  the  other  ladies. 
Mrs.  Pell's  grey  hair  was  worn  in  two  smooth 
bands,  and  her  black  silk  gown  was  plain  to 
severity;  she  looked  like  a  Quaker,  and  had 
a  very  sermonizing  manner,  which  always  put 
me  on  the  defensive  until  I  remembered  what 
a  good  woman  she  was  deep  down. 

She  was  wonderfully  kind  to  Emma 
Eames,  who  was  then  in  poor  circumstances 
studying  singing  in  Paris.  Mrs.  Pell  believed 
in  the  girl's  future,  and  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  her  prognostications  come  true. 
Madame  Eames  never  forgot  her  benefactress, 


122       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

for  in  after  years  whenever  the  prima  donna 
was  in  Paris,  she  always  insisted  on  singing 
to  Mrs.  Pell's  friends,  and  I  remember  one 
evening  Mrs.  Pell  getting  up  and  solemnly 
opening  a  work-box,  out  of  which  she  took  a 
diamond  necklace  which  she  gave  to  the 
singer,  much  in  the  manner  in  which  a  teacher 
presents  a  pupil  with  a  prize. 

I  wonder  whether  Madame  Eames  ever  re- 
calls her  early  struggles,  or  thinks  of  the  days 
when  she  went  to  and  from  the  opera  in  a 
crowded  omnibus  accompanied  by  her  maid? 
I  remember  she  once  told  me  how  interested 
she  was  to  hear  the  criticisms  of  her  singing 
from  those  of  the  passengers  who  had  been  to 
the  opera  and  who  little  suspected  that  the 
prima  donna  was  beside  them. 

I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  many 
interesting  people  during  my  various  visits  to 
Paris,  and  Madame  de  Sorchams,  an  acquaint- 
ance of  my  youthful  days,  introduced  me  to 
John  Singer  Sargent,  who  was  then  studying 
Art  in  Paris.  "I  want  you  to  dine  with  me, 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       123 

Fred  Martin,"  said  my  friend,  "to  meet  a 
young  American  who,  in  my  opinion,  will  go 
very  far,"  so  I  was  naturally  interested  in  the 
thoughtful  young  man  with  the  penetrating 
eyes  who  sat  next  to  me  the  following  evening, 
and  whose  conversation  proved  him  to  be  some 
one  quite  out  of  the  ordinary.  Sargent  seemed 
to  read  one's  inmost  soul ;  indeed  the  souls  of 
his  sitters  always  show  through  their  faces, 
and  I  wonder  how  certain  people  have  ever 
had  the  courage  to  have  their  portraits  painted 
by  this  exponent  of  "Know  Thyself." 

Bonnat  and  Carolus  Duran  were  friends  of 
mine,  and  Bonnat  painted  several  members  of 
our  family.  Carolus  Duran  was  a  very  ro- 
mantic person,  and  I  remember  when  he  was 
painting  my  niece,  Lady  Craven,  that  he 
would  often  put  down  his  palette  and  brushes 
suddenly,  and  commence  to  play  the  guitar. 

I  have  always  considered  Rodin  to  be  the 
greatest  living  genius,  and  the  impression  he 
made  upon  me  when  I  visited  his  studio  is 
ineffaceable.  The  sculptor  was  in  his  work- 


124       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

ing  blouse,  and  I  could  not  help  admiring  his 
marvellous  head.  His  personality  was  posi- 
tively magnetic;  the  whole  air  seemed  to  vi- 
brate with  some  subtle  force,  and  when  he 
spoke  about  his  art  he  became  absolutely  en- 
grossing. "Small  wonder,"  thought  I,  "that 
this  man  is  famous." 

I  remember  a  curious  story  connected  with 
my  first  introduction  to  a  very  beautiful  wom- 
an, whom  I  met  at  dinner.  After  we  had 
chatted  together  for  some  time,  she  remarked, 
"Mr.  Martin,  I've  noticed  that  you  have  been 
staring  at  me,  why  is  it?  Has  any  one  told 
you  anything  about  me?" 

"No,  indeed,  madame,"  I  replied,  "I  have 
heard  nothing,  but  I  must  plead  guilty  to 
having  looked  at  you  with  interest.  You  have 
the  saddest  eyes  I  have  ever  seen,  and  the  more 
I  look  the  more  I  am  impressed  by  their 
sadness." 

"Yes,"  she  assented.  "I  have  had  an  un- 
happy life,"  but  she  gave  me  no  further  in- 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       125 

formation.  Later  in  the  evening  another  lady 
asked  me  what  I  thought  of  Madame  X. 

"It  is  no  wonder  she  seems  miserable,"  she 
said,  "she  has  a  most  tragic  history." 

"Indeed,"  I  replied;  "would  it  be  a  breach 
of  confidence  to  tell  me?" 

"Oh,  no,  it's  everybody's  secret,"  answered 
the  lady.  "When  Madame  X.  was  younger 
and  more  beautiful  than  she  is  now,  her  son, 
a  charming  lad  of  eighteen,  who  was  at 
college,  received  an  anonymous  letter  which 
accused  his  best  friend  of  being  his  mother's 
lover.  The  boy  was  dreadfully  upset,  and 
with  the  impetuosity  of  youth  he  set  off  to  see 
his  mother  in  order  to  get  the  truth  from  her. 

"When  he  reached  home  he  saw  that  the 
hotel  was  ablaze  with  light,  for  Madame  X. 
was  about  to  give  a  great  ball,  at  which  all 
fashionable  Paris  was  expected.  Heedless  of 
anything  save  the  monstrous  accusation,  the 
boy  rushed  into  his  mother's  boudoir  and  gave 
her  the  fatal  letter,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so, 


126       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

'Read  this — you  must,  I  beg  of  you,  tell  me 
that  it  is  untrue.' 

"His  mother  read  the  letter  slowly;  there- 
upon she  crumpled  it  up  and  threw  it  across 
the  room  with  a  gesture  of  supreme  disdain; 
then  she  turned  to  her  son  and  said — 

"  'By  what  right  do  you  dare  to  show  me 
this?' 

"  'By  the  right  of  my  love  for  you,'  he 
replied. 

"  'I  refuse  to  answer  any  questions  which 
refer  to  this  letter,'  answered  Madame  X.  in 
freezing  accents.  'Be  good  enough  to  leave 


me.' 


"  'So,'  cried  the  poor  boy,  'you  can't,  you 
won't  deny  it.  Then  it  must  be  true.' 

"Half-mad  with  shame  and  grief  he  rushed 
to  the  window,  and  threw  himself  out  before 
his  mother's  eyes.  He  was  dashed  to  pieces 
on  the  pavement  below,  but  Madame  X. 
seemed  absolutely  callous,  for  her  one  fear 
was  that  her  ball  might  have  to  be  cancelled 
if  her  son's  awful  end  became  known.  She 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       127 

gave  orders  that  the  body  should  be  taken  up- 
stairs, and  then  she  descended  to  the  ballroom, 
where  the  first  guests  were  beginning  to  arrive. 

"The  evening  was  a  brilliant  success,  and 
the  dancers  were  unaware  of  the  presence  of 
death  in  that  lovely,  glittering  house;  indeed 
the  coroner  was  not  notified  until  the  next 
day.  Gradually,  however,  the  truth  leaked 
out,  and  when  Society  realized  the  horrible 
heartlessness  of  which  Madame  X.  had  been 
guilty,  she  found  many  doors  closed  against 
her,  and  it's  only  just  lately  that  she  has  begun 
to  be  received  again." 

I  was  much  shocked.  "No  wonder,"  said  I, 
"that  she  looks  sad." 

"Ah,"  replied  the  lady,  "I  believe  she  will 
never  be  happy  again." 

I  think  that  Paris  will  suffer  a  distinct  loss 
when  my  dear  old  friend,  Miss  Reed,  passes 
away.  At  her  charming  house  in  the  Rue  de 
la  Pompe  the  extremes  of  Fame  and  Fashion 
meet,  and  I  think  Miss  Reed  would  be  well 
named  "The  finder  of  stars,"  for  she  has  in 


128       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

her  day  introduced  Madame  Melba,  Mary 
Garden  and  Sybil  Saunderson  to  the  world 
of  music  and  song. 

Sybil  Saunderson  came  to  Paris  to  study 
singing,  and  directly  Miss  Reed  heard  her  she 
declared,  "My  dear  girl,  you  must  meet  Mas- 
senet, I'm  sure  he'll  be  enchanted  with  your 
voice."  With  Miss  Reed  to  think  is  to  act, 
and  an  informal  musicale  was  arranged  at 
which  Massenet  was  present. 

Sybil  Saunderson  stood  by  the  piano  look- 
ing like  a  frightened  school-girl  and  com- 
menced to  sing.  I  glanced  at  the  composer, 
who  was  listening  intently;  then  his  eyes 
sought  Sybil's,  and  their  expression  seemed  to 
give  her  encouragement,  for  she  sang  to  him 
alone,  her  whole  face  transfigured  with  love 
of  her  art.  The  young  girl's  voice  so  fas- 
cinated Massenet  that  he  taught  her  to  sing  the 
title-role  of  his  opera  Esclamonde,  and  her 
success  was  assured  from  the  first  night  of  its 
performance,  when  a  crowded  house  ac- 
claimed her  as  a  new  operatic  star. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       129 

She  was  a  beautiful  creature,  dreamy,  ethe- 
real and  full  of  profound  belief  in  an  all- 
protecting  Providence,  but  Sybil  was  never  a 
great  actress;  she  could  not  express  the  human 
chord  in  her  beautiful  voice;  passion  was 
unknown  to  her,  and  her  singing  left  her 
hearers  slightly  cold. 

Sybil  Saunderson  discovered  Mary  Garden, 
and  introduced  her  to  Miss  Reed.  She  was  a 
wonderful  "find,"  and  I  think  she  is  unrivalled 
as  an  actress  of  temperament.  Mary  Garden 
can  depict  the  emotions;  she  has  a  tempestu- 
ous personality,  and  to  me  she  always  seems 
the  embodiment  of  the  Battle  of  Life.  It  is 
pleasant  to  record  that  she  never  loses  an 
opportunity  of  acknowledging  her  indebted- 
ness to  Sybil  Saunderson ;  it  is  a  charming  trait 
in  her  character,  and  an  unusual  one  for  a 
prima  donna  to  possess,  for  few  of  the  queens 
of  song  ever  care  to  remember  the  days  before 
they  were  famous. 

Madame  Melba  has  honoured  me  with  her 
friendship.  "Do  you  remember,  Mr.  Mar- 


130       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

tin,"  she  has  often  said,  "how  hard  I  worked 
in  Paris,  and  how  kind  Miss  Reed  was? 
When  I  see  girls  now  who  pretend  to  work 
and  give  themselves  terrific  airs,  I  feel  in- 
clined to  tell  them  that  they  don't  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word." 

The  great  artiste  is  certainly  a  most  de- 
lightful woman,  and  I  remember  how  she 
once  danced  the  cake-walk  with  me  at  Palm 
Beach,  Florida,  after  her  concert  at  the 
Flagler  Mansion.  Melba  was  enchanted 
with  the  negro  songs  which  she  heard  for  the 
first  time,  and  when  supper  was  over  the 
orchestra  played  cake-walks  which  were  quite 
unfamiliar  to  her.  "But  I  must  dance  one," 
she  declared.  "So  teach  me,  Mr.  Martin." 
We  had  a  regular  jolly  time,  and  I  believe 
Madame  Melba  thoroughly  enjoyed  herself; 
she  threw  herself  heart  and  soul  into  the 
fun,  and  soon  danced  like  a  past-mistress  of 
the  art. 

I  remember  seeing  her  in  a  more  serious 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       131 

mood  one  Christmas  in  New  York.  I  was 
staying  at  the  Plaza  Hotel,  and  as  I  was  pass- 
ing through  the  lounge  I  saw  Melba  sitting 
alone. 

"My  dear  Madame  Melba,  I'd  no  idea  you 
were  in  New  York,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I'd  rather  be  anywhere  else,"  she 
answered,  "for  I  feel  dreadfully  lonely.  I've 
got  to  sing  to  thousands  of  people  who  have 
homes,  and  who  are  enjoying  Christmas,  but 
I'm  quite  homeless  to-night." 

I  felt  sorry,  for  I  could  see  that  she  was 
really  miserable,  and  it  was  only  the  promise 
to  dine  with  my  family  which  prevented  my 
asking  Madame  Melba  to  dine  with  me. 
And  yet  there  was  a  subtle  irony  in  the  situ- 
ation! Here  was  a  great  singer  feted  and 
flattered  everywhere,  and  she  who  had  so 
much,  wanted  so  little — only  to  be  at  home 
on  Christmas  night! 

But  I  am  diverging  in  leaving  Paris  for 
New  York  at  the  magic  of  Melba's  name, 


132       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

and  I  am  quite  forgetting  my  charming  com- 
patriots who  made  American-Parisian  life  so 
pleasant 

The  value  of  a  woman's  personality  has 
been  strikingly  exemplified  by  the  wives  of 
some  of  our  Ministers,  and  I  think  Mrs. 
Henry  White  carried  off  the  palm  for  tact 
and  understanding.  She  knew  exactly  who 
were  the  right  people,  and  her  dinners  and 
teas  illustrated  the  parable  of  the  sheep  and 
the  goats.  The  sheep  were  invited  to  dinner 
and  the  goats  browsed  contentedly  through 
the  teas.  Happily,  they  never  suspected  why 
they  were  asked  to  these  informal  gather- 
ings, and  such  was  Mrs.  White's  savoir  faire 
that  nobody  ever  felt  neglected. 

Mrs.  Whitelaw  Reid  was  considered  a 
splendid  hostess,  but  her  entertainments  were 
outrivalled  by  those  which  she  afterwards 
gave  in  London.  Her  husband  resigned  his 
position  in  Paris,  as  he  was  asked  to  run  as 
Vice-President  with  General  Harrison,  but 
Whitelaw  Reid  gave  up  the  substance  for 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       133 

the  shadow,  for  he  was  defeated  in  the  elec- 
tions, and  I  think  he  always  regretted  leav- 
ing the  Embassy. 

General  Porter  possessed  the  proud  dis- 
tinction of  having  been  the  first  Minister  to 
make  a  speech  in  French  in  the  Tuileries 
Gardens.  He  was  most  popular  with  the 
Parisian:,  and  one  met  the  most  charming 
and  distinguished  people  during  his  term  of 
office. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  McCormick  were  not  very 
much  liked,  for  Mrs.  McCormick,  who  was 
a  strong-minded  woman,  did  not  believe  in 
entertaining  Americans.  Her  idea  was  to 
confine  her  hospitality  to  the  nation  they  had 
been  sent  to  live  with,  and  the  Bacons  pur- 
sued the  same  unpopular  idea. 

The  Goodrichs  kept  up  all  the  best  tradi- 
tions of  hospitality,  and  Mrs.  Sears  enter- 
tained for  her  father  with  great  dignity.  I 
remember  a  rather  amusing  incident  which 
occurred  at  one  of  their  receptions,  when 
the  butler  came  up  to  Mr.  Goodrich  and  said 


134       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

with  an  air  of  mystery,  "Miss  Loie  Fuller 
has  just  arrived,  sir." 

"Well,  why  doesn't  she  come  up?"  asked 
the  Minister. 

"Please,  sir,  she  says  she's  too  nervous," 
replied  the  butler. 

Mr.  Goodrich  at  once  hurried  down  and 
soon  discovered  the  shy  dancer.  "Come  right 
away  with  me,"  he  insisted;  so  the  Minister 
and  Loie  Fuller  went  upstairs  together,  and 
his  kindness  doubtless  saved  her  a  mauvais 
quart  d'heure,  for  although  Loie  had  by  this 
time  overcome  stage  fright,  she  did  not  feel 
quite  equal  to  facing  an  Embassy  reception. 


CHAPTER   VI 

Victor  Hugo's  funeral:  Under  the  Arc  de 
Triomphe:  Severe  simplicity:  A  poet's  progress: 
The  heart  of  the  people :  I  recall  another  funeral : 
The  King  of  Hanover :  "The  divinity  which  doth 
hedge  a  king" :  Paris  as  a  spectacular  background : 
My  apartment:  My  hobby:  A  man  of  peace:  I 
give  a  party  in  the  Bois :  Cleo  de  Merode :  Flaming 
June:  A  long  wait:  Cleo  appears:  Why  she  was 
late:  The  ordeal  by  sunlight:  Was  she  afraid  of 
freckles?:  The  Gallic  temperament:  Mrs.  Potter 
Palmer:  A  champion  of  women:  The  business  ca- 
pacity of  the  American  woman:  "Do  it  yourself": 
The  Duchesse  de  Chaulne:  "Dook  or  no  dock": 
Mrs.  Campbell's  common-sense:  Vanished  faces: 
"One  must  have  courage":  Rome  and  the  Popes: 
Pius  IX  questions  me  about  America:  "Au  Re- 
voir":  My  audience  with  Leo  XIII:  A  dignified 
Pope :  "Are  you  of  my  faith  ?" :  I  explain  that  I  am 
anxious  to  receive  the  blessing  of  a  good  man:  I 
see  Pius  X:  His  extreme  simplicity:  I  am  pre- 
sented at  the  Quirinal:  Queen  Margherita:  Her 
charm:  "The  Pearl  of  Savoy":  Social  Life  in 
Rome:  I  meet  Madame  Ristori:  Talks  over  the 
135 


136       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

tea-cups:  Ristori  tells  me  about  her  meeting  with 
Queen  Isabella  of  Spain:  "Anything  you  like  to 
ask  is  granted" :  "The  life  of  a  poor  man" :  Isabella 
keeps  her  promise:  F.  Marion  Crawford:  "A 
Cigarette  Maker's  Romance" 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  day  when  I  wit- 
nessed the  funeral  of  Victor  Hugo.  We  were 
in  Paris  when  he  lay  at  the  point  of  death, 
and  I  well  remember  seeing  people  raise 
their  hats  in  silent  sympathy  as  they  passed 
the  modest  house  in  the  Avenue  Victor  Hugo. 
The  wish  of  the  nation  was  to  give  the 
master  a  public  funeral,  so  the  Government 
decided  that  Victor  Hugo's  body  should  lie 
in  state  under  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  during 
a  whole  night,  and  the  corpse  was  accord- 
ingly removed  thither,  escorted  by  soldiers 
who  afterwards  guarded  the  dark  pall-cov- 
ered coffin.  All  night  long  great  torches  lit 
up  the  scene,  and  countless  thousands  kept 
their  quiet  vigil  beside  the  remains  of  one 
of  the  greatest  men  of  letters  France  has 
produced. 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       137 

Victor  Hugo  had  expressed  the  wish  that 
his  funeral  should  be  conducted  with  ex- 
treme simplicity,  but  this  very  simplicity  was 
more  impressive  than  an  elaborate  cere- 
monial, as  never  before  was  the  popularity 
of  the  dead  man  so  strikingly  demonstrated. 

I  saw  the  procession  from  a  window  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  and  the  cortege  took  hours 
to  pass  a  given  point. 

Almost  every  man  and  woman  present 
carried  a  wreath,  and  the  only  sounds  which 
broke  the  stillness  were  the  steady  tramp  of 
the  mourners,  and  the  melancholy  grandeur 
of  Beethoven's  Funeral  March,  which  was 
played  by  the  band  of  the  Garde  Republi- 
caine  to  the  accompaniment  of  muffled 
drums. 

At  last,  after  an  interminable  period  of 
waiting,  I  saw  the  plain  hearse,  drawn  by 
two  horses,  which  contained  the  body,  and 
I  felt  all  the  dramatic  effect  of  such  extreme 
simplicity.  This  unpretentious  bourgeois 
hearse  appealed  far  more  to  the  public  than 


138       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

nodding  plumes  and  caparisoned,  sweeping- 
tailed  horses,  for  it  stamped  the  poet  as  one 
of  the  people,  a  man  who  loved  and  under- 
stood the  heart  of  the  world,  and  never  did 
a  monarch  pass  in  such  triumph  as  did  the 
body  of  Victor  Hugo  on  the  way  to  its  final 
resting-place  at  the  Pantheon. 

This  funeral  carried  me  back  to  memories 
of  another  I  had  witnessed  years  before, 
when  I  had  looked  over  the  Champs  Elysees 
at  the  gorgeous  procession  which  escorted  the 
remains  of  the  last  King  of  Hanover  to  the 
grave. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  and  many  other 
royalties  followed  the  hearse,  which  looked 
like  a  mountain  of  flowers,  and  the  trap- 
pings of  the  many  horses  which  drew  it  were 
dazzling  with  silver  stars.  What  a  contrast 
to  the  funeral  I  had  just  seen!  The  flower- 
decked  hearse  bore  the  remains  of  a  lonely, 
embittered,  blind  King,  who  had  been  de- 
posed from  his  throne  and  exiled  from  his 
country,  to  find  a  grave  in  a  foreign  land. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       139 

He  was,  doubtless,  well  and  truly  mourned 
by  those  who  loved  him,  but  the  splendour 
of  the  mourners  in  their  gorgeous  uniforms, 
and  all  the  "divinity  which  doth  hedge  a 
King,"  counted  as  little  to  my  mind  in  com- 
parison with  the  dignity  of  the  simple  obse- 
quies of  Victor  Hugo. 

I  think  Paris  affords  a  wonderful  back- 
ground for  spectacular  displays.  Some  peo- 
ple dislike  the  Gay  City,  and  are  invariably 
depressed  when  there,  but  it  has  a  peculiar 
fascination  for  me,  and  I  love  my  apartment 
in  the  Avenue  Gabrielle,  where  I  have  en- 
shrined my  Lares  and  Penates.  Collecting 
has  always  been  my  hobby  since  I  was  a  small 
boy,  and  I  remember  how  I  used  to  pay, 
on  the  instalment  plan,  for  some  "curiosity" 
which  took  my  fancy.  Those  days  are  past, 
but  I  am  still  thrilled  with  the  joy  of  a 
"find,"  and,  as  a  man  of  peace,  it  is  strange 
to  admit  that  my  taste  for  the  antique  lies 
principally  in  Tudor  and  seventeenth-century 
weapons. 


140       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  remember  giving  a  party  in  the  Bois  a 
few  years  ago,  to  which  nine  hundred  guests 
came.  I  had  arranged  to  have  half  the  Pre 
Catalan  shut  off,  and  as  a  surprise-sensation 
I  secured  Cleo  de  Merode  to  dance  during 
the  afternoon.  The  engaging  Cleo  was  then 
in  the  height  of  her  "publicity,"  let  us  call 
it,  for  I  do  not  think  she  was  ever  really 
famous  as  a  dancer,  and  many  of  my  fair 
friends  considered  that  "starring"  her  was  a 
slightly  daring  undertaking. 

It  was  a  brilliant  day  in  June,  and  the  sun 
beat  down  on  the  silk-covered  dais  on  which 
Cleo  de  Merode  was  to  dance,  but  we  waited 
in  vain  for  her  appearance.  I  began  to  get 
nervous,  and  sent  to  see  whether  the  lady  had 
arrived  or  whether  she  had  telegraphed  the 
evergreen  falsehood  "Unavoidably  detained," 
for  every  one  was  saying,  "This  must  be  one 
of  Fred  Martin's  jokes." 

At  last,  just  as  the  sun  dipped  behind  the 
trees,  Cleo  arrived  on  the  scene,  arrayed  in  a 
light  summer  drapery  consisting  of  a  few 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       141 

yards  of  orange-coloured  gauze,  and  duly 
danced  before  my  guests.  Her  performance 
appealed  more  to  the  husbands  present  than 
to  their  wives,  and  it  was  not  until  the  party 
was  over  that  I  heard  the  reason  why  Cleo 
was  late. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  came  in  plenty  of 
time,  but  she  positively  refused  to  face  the 
ordeal  of  dancing  in  the  sunlight.  She  was 
perhaps  conscious  that  she  was  at  her  best 
when  it  was  dark;  perhaps  she  was  afraid  of 
freckles.  At  any  rate,  she  remained  in  her 
stuffy  dressing-tent  until  the  sun  was  low  and 
she  could  venture  forth  in  safety. 

The  Gallic  temperament  has  appealed  to 
many  Americans,  but  to  none  more  strongly 
than  to  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer,  who  has  now 
practically  deserted  London  for  Paris,  and 
lives  in  a  beautiful  hotel  in  the  Rue  Con- 
stantin.  She  is  a  wonderful  personality,  and 
her  speeches  on  the  Woman  question  at  the 
World's  Fair  made  a  very  deep  impression 
on  those  who  listened  to  them.  Mrs.  Palmer 


142       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

manages  her  great  estates  with  remarkable 
acumen,  and  she  always  continues  to  keep  in 
touch  with  everything  and  everybody  worth 
knowing.  It  is  interesting  to  contemplate 
the  business  capacities  of  the  American 
woman,  and  it  is  very  rare  to  find  any  of 
our  social  leaders  who  do  not  go  thoroughly 
into  minute  details  of  their  affairs,  believing 
doubtless  that  if  you  want  a  thing  well  done 
— do  it  yourself. 

I  remember  how  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulne 
decided  to  bring  up  her  little  son  after  her 
husband's  tragic  death.  "Dook  or  no  dook, 
he's  got  to  earn  his  own  living,"  said  her 
father,  old  Mr.  Shonts,  so  the  Duchesse  left 
France  for  America,  where  the  young  Duke 
is  being  brought  up  to  work  and  to  appre- 
ciate its  value.  Surely  this  is  a  striking  ex- 
ample of  the  practical  American  woman,  who 
never  allows  her  head  to  be  turned  even  in 
the  most  dazzling  conditions. 

Another  example  of  sound  common  sense 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       143 

has  been  shown  by  Mrs.  Douglas  Campbell, 
who  married  the  nephew  of  the  Duke  of 
Argyll.  Amy  Campbell  loved  Paris;  she 
had  hosts  of  friends  there,  whose  kindness 
helped  her  to  endure  an  unhappy  marriage, 
but  since  her  separation  from  her  husband, 
Mrs.  Campbell  has  given  up  her  life  in  Paris 
and  has  devoted  herself  entirely  to  her  son's 
education  in  order  to  prepare  him  for  the 
duties  of  his  future  station. 

Paris  is  sometimes  a  place  of  saddened 
memories  for  me  when  I  think  of  the 
familiar  faces  which  have  vanished  for  ever 
during  the  last  few  years,  and  I  shall  espe- 
cially miss  my  friend  Pierpont  Morgan,  who 
loved  Paris  almost  as  much  as  I  do.  In 
1895  I  travelled  with  him  from  Rome  to 
Paris,  and  we  spoke  of  many  things.  "Fred 
Martin,"  said  Pierpont  Morgan,  "one  must 
have  courage  to  make  money.  I  believe  I 
could  go  into  my  office  and  pick  out  at  a 
glance  any  one  there  who  possesses  pluck 


144       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

and  who  will  succeed  in  life."  He  was  a 
very  delightful  man,  and  the  soul  of  gener- 
osity. 

The  mention  of  Rome  reminds  me  of  in- 
terviews which  I  had  with  Pius  IX,  Leo 
XIII  and  Pius  X.  My  brother  and  I  ob- 
tained the  honour  of  an  interview  with 
Pius  IX  through  the  good  offices  of  Cardinal 
Antonelli,  and  on  the  appointed  day  we  pre- 
sented ourselves  at  the  Vatican,  where  we 
traversed  many  splendid  rooms,  until  at  last 
we  reached  the  Pope's  apartments. 

We  were  then  conducted  to  a  small  room 
hung  with  beautiful  tapestries,  and  we  waited, 
feeling  rather  nervous,  for  the  Holy  Father 
to  make  his  appearance.  After  a  few  minutes 
Pius  IX  came  in,  and  I  remember  how  I  was 
struck  by  his  sweet  eypression,  and  the  charm 
of  manner  which  attracted  every  one  to 
him. 

The  Pope  was  dressed  in  white  with  a 
scarlet  hood,  and  he  walked  leaning  upon  a 
stick.  We  knelt  when  he  entered,  and  Car- 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       145 

dinal  Antonelli  stepped  forward  and  an- 
nounced our  names. 

"Americans?"  inquired  the  Holy  Father 
in  a  pleased  voice,  as  he  came  forward  and 
extended  his  hand  for  us  to  kiss.  I  told  him 
how  I  had  always  wished  to  see  him,  and 
Pius  replied  kindly — 

"Well,  my  son,  it  gives  me  great  pleasure 
to  welcome  you  and  to  give  you  my  bless- 
ing." Then,  turning  to  Howard,  he  said, 
"Is  this  your  brother?" 

The  Pope  asked  us  many  questions.  What 
did  we  think  of  Rome?  Had  we  been  happy 
there?  What  was  New  York  like?  Then  he 
solemnly  gave  us  the  blessing  of  St.  Peter  and 
took  leave  of  us,  saying  as  he  reached  the 
door — 

"Au  revoir,  mes  amis." 

My  audience  with  Leo  XIII  was  due  to 
the  kindness  of  his  nephew,  and  I  remember 
how  I  thought  of  gentle  Pius  IX  as  I  passed 
through  the  Vatican  to  see  his  successor. 

I  waited  in  the  little  room  next  the  Pope's 


146       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

bedroom,  with  two  missionaries  from  South 
Africa,  and  presently  the  valet  drew  back  the 
heavy  tapestry  and  announced — 

"His  Holiness  approaches." 

We  fell  on  our  knees,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  dignified  old  man  who  came  into 
the  room  and  with  arms  extended  gave  us  his 
blessing. 

Leo  XIII  was  something  like  Voltaire  in 
appearance,  and  his  face  seemed  like  a  skull 
covered  with  skin.  But  his  eyes  were  full  of 
fine  intellect,  which  seemed  to  triumph  over 
the  feeble  body;  after  he  had  said  Mass  he 
sat  in  a  golden  chair,  and  we  were  presented 
to  him. 

The  Chamberlain  conducted  me  to  a  cush- 
ion close  to  the  Papal  chair;  I  knelt  down, 
and  Leo  XIII  looked  at  me  gravely. 

"My  son,  are  you  of  my  Faith?"  he  asked. 

"No,  your  Holiness,"  I  replied,  "I  am  a 
Protestant." 

"Then  why,"  said  the  Pope  somewhat 
sternly,  "do  you  seek  an  interview  with  me?" 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       147 

"Your  Holiness,"  I  answered,  "my  reason 
in  asking  for  this  interview  arose  from  my 
wish  to  receive  the  blessing  of  a  good 


man." 


His  face  changed,  the  severity  disappeared, 
and  he  smiled  kindly. 

"My  son,  I  will  give  you  my  blessing  most 
willingly,  but  first  I  should  like  to  talk  to 
you." 

We  had  a  very  interesting  conversation; 
the  Pope  asked  me  all  kinds  of  questions 
about  America.  "I  do  hope,"  he  said,  "that 
your  great  nation  will  spend  its  time  in 
strengthening  itself  and  refrain  from  engag- 
ing in  wars;  wars  are  fatal  to  the  progress 
of  mankind." 

As  the  Pope  warmed  to  his  subject  he  oc- 
casionally lapsed  from  French  into  Italian, 
and  when  the  interview  was  over  he  said — 

"And  now,  my  son,  I  will  give  you  my 
blessing."  He  leant  forward  as  he  spoke  and 
kissed  my  forehead,  saying,  "May  you  love 
God  and  serve  Him,"  and  as  I  rose  and 


148       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

backed  to  the  door  he  smiled  and  waved  his 
hand  in  farewell. 

Pius  X  impressed  me  by  reason  of  his 
extreme  simplicity.  He  came  unattended, 
save  for  the  President  of  the  American  Col- 
lege, who  was  there  to  introduce  the  Ameri- 
cans who  were  present. 

The  Pope  looked  like  a  quiet  country 
priest,  and  when  he  heard  that  I  had  re- 
ceived the  blessing  of  two  of  his  predecessors, 
he  said — 

"Not  only  will  I  bless  you  on  coming  this 
third  time  to  the  Vatican,  but  I  will  also 
bless  your  family  in  my  prayers." 

Shortly  after  my  interview  with  Leo  XIII 
my  friend  Mr.  Wayne  MacVeagh  (the  Amer- 
ican Ambassador  at  Rome)  presented  me  at 
the  Court  of  the  Quirinal,  where  I  had  a 
most  interesting  conversation  with  Queen 
Margherita. 

The  Chamberlain  ordered  that  the  repre- 
sentatives of  each  nation  were  to  be  grouped 
together,  so  when  the  Queen  came  in  she 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       149 

walked  about  and  conversed  with  the  Ger- 
mans, English  and  Americans  present. 

We  Americans  only  numbered  four,  and 
the  Queen,  speaking  in  the  most  perfect 
English  without  a  trace  of  accent,  asked  me 
how  I  liked  Rome. 

"Some  one  has  told  me,"  she  remarked, 
"that  you  are  seeing  a  great  deal  of  social 
life  here.  I  hope  you'll  find  Rome  so  at- 
tractive that  you  will  re-visit  it  next  winter." 

As  she  was  talking  Queen  Margherita 
dropped  her  fan,  which  I  picked  up  and  re- 
turned to  her,  to  be  thanked  with  the  greatest 
charm.  I  do  not  think  I  have  seen  a  more 
beautiful  woman  than  the  Queen  of  Italy 
was  at  that  time,  and  it  is  not  surprising 
that  she  was  called  "The  Pearl  of  Savoy." 

"Tell  me  about  New  York,"  she  asked, 
"what  is  it  like,  does  it  resemble  Rome?" 

I  could  not  help  smiling.  "Your  Majesty," 
I  replied,  "I  can  sum  up  the  answer  to  your 
question  in  a  very  few  words.  There  does 
not  exist  a  greater  contrast." 


150       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  enjoyed  social  life  in  Rome  exceedingly, 
for  I  met  many  delightful  people.  I  often 
heard  Miss  Reed's  name  mentioned  by  those 
who  remembered  her  beautiful  voice  and  her 
enthusiastic  friendship  with  Liszt,  which  had 
its  birth  in  the  Eternal  City,  and  which  lasted 
until  the  great  pianist's  death. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  charming  reunions 
that  I  first  met  Madame  Ristori;  the  great 
actress  was  so  pleasant  to  me  that  I  frequently 
went  to  see  her,  and  many  were  the  agreeable 
chats  I  enjoyed. 

Madame  Ristori  told  me  that  once  when 
she  was  acting  in  Madrid  she  was  command- 
ed to  the  Royal  Box  as  Queen  Isabella  wished 
to  converse  with  her. 

"The  Queen,"  said  Ristori,  "was  most 
gracious  to  me.  'It  gives  me  the  greatest 
pleasure  to  witness  your  wonderful  acting,' 
she  cried,  and  then  in  the  true  Spanish  man- 
ner Isabella  added,  'My  house  and  all  it  con- 
tains are  yours;  anything  you  like  to  ask  is 
granted.'  " 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       151 

"What  request  did  you  make?"  said  I, 
much  interested. 

"I  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,"  replied 
Ristori.  "  'Madame,7  I  said,  (if  you  really 
wish  to  give  me  whatever  I  ask,  may  I  beg 
you  to  reprieve  the  poor  man  who  is  to  be 
garrotted  to-morrow  morning.* 

"The  Queen  frowned  and  hesitated.  'Very 
well,'  she  answered,  'your  wish  is  granted.' 

"Isabella  kept  her  promise,  and  the  con- 
demned man  was  released  on  the  eve  of  his 
execution,  but  I  doubt  whether  he  ever  knew 
to  whose  intercession  he  owed  his  life." 

I  was  greatly  interested  at  hearing  this 
human  story,  and  the  expression  of  Ristori's 
face  as  she  told  it  to  me  was  a  thing  to 
remember. 

One  of  my  pleasant  memories  of  Rome  is 
my  meeting  with  the  late  Marion  Crawford. 
His  wife  was  a  most  charming  woman,  and 
I  remember  she  asked  me  which  of  her  hus- 
band's books  I  liked  best.  "A  Cigarette 
Maker's  Romance,"  I  replied. 


152       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Crawford,  "that  was 
written  for  me  when  I  was  ill.  My  husband 
used  to  write  a  chapter  at  a  time  and  read  it 
aloud  to  amuse  me;  the  'Romance'  continued 
in  this  way  until  I  was  well,  and  by  that  time 
it  had  grown  into  a  novel." 


CHAPTER  VII 

Looking  backward:  London  in  the  seventies: 
The  growth  of  hotel  life:  Clubland:  The  border 
line :  The  repose  of  society :  Modern  woman :  Suc- 
cessful sinners:  Vows  sometimes  made  to  be 
broken:  The  season:  Then  and  now:  The  day  of 
the  automobile:  Church  versus  car:  The  three 
arbiters  of  fashion:  The  Mahlon  Sands':  Mrs. 
Sands'  friendship  with  the  late  King:  A  cold  din- 
ner: At  Waddesdon  Manor:  A  house-warming: 
Interesting  visitors:  I  talk  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales:  His  visit  to  America:  The  Souvenir 
Cigar:  H.R.H.  is  amused:  His  dislike  of  Ameri- 
can men:  His  criticism  of  adverse  criticism:  The 
late  King's  ideas  of  dignity :  Where  fools  rush  in : 
The  aspirant's  downfall:  The  Rothschilds:  How 
they  purchased  pictures:  Miss  Alice  Rothschild: 
Tears  have  their  uses :  I  meet  Mr.  Gladstone :  His 
opinion  of  the  masses:  Their  ultimate  power: 
New  ideas :  How  Mr.  Gladstone  defied  time :  The 
cobwebs  of  the  Old  Country:  The  power  of  the 
Press:  Houses  and  their  occupants:  What  the 
supersensitive  experience:  Death  of  Mahlon 
153 


154       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Sands:  His  talents:  A  witty  answer:  His  accident: 
"Better  death  than  life  without  thee" :  A  last  in- 
terview with  Mrs.  Sands:  Her  sudden  end:  "Ills 
have  no  weight  and  tears  no  bitterness" 

LOOKING  back  on  London  as  I  knew  it  in  the 
seventies  and  eighties,  I  am  astonished  at  the 
developments  which  have  taken  place,  and  at 
the  big  changes  in  hotel  and  restaurant  life. 
When  I  came  to  London  there  were  no  big 
hotels;  fashionable  people  went  to  Brown's, 
Claridge's,  Thomas's  and  to  the  Langham, 
which  had  just  then  been  built. 

I  was  greatly  impressed  by  the  repose  of 
Society  in  those  days.  The  spirit  of  unrest, 
with  which  we  are  now  familiar,  was  prac- 
tically non-existent.  Clubland  claimed  the 
men,  and  there  was  none  of  the  intimacy  be- 
tween the  sexes  which  exists  to-day.  Women 
did  not  golf,  or  go  in  for  sports,  and  it  was 
only  when  hunting  that  they  met  the  Lords 
of  Creation  on  equal  ground.  Ladies  were 
not  the  companionable  beings  they  are  now, 
when  many  of  them  smoke  with  the  men, 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       155 

listen  to  risky  stories  without  a  blush,  and 
discuss  stocks  and  shares  with  businesslike 
acumen.  The  "Nut"  and  the  "Flapper" 
were  luckily  unknown,  and  the  sight  of  a 
girl  lunching  alone  with  a  young  man  and 
enjoying  a  cigarette  would  have  been  a  thing 
undreamt  of.  People  lived  with  more  dig- 
nity and  sinned  more  successfully  than  they 
do  now,  for  divorce  cases  with  nauseating 
details,  which  make  the  fortunes  of  some 
cheap  newspapers,  were  much  rarer  than  they 
are  to-day,  when  marriage  vows  seem  to  be 
regarded  by  certain  people  as  a  joke. 

The  best  families  came  up  to  London  and 
settled  down  for  the  three  months  season,  but 
these  stately  trips  have  been  to  a  great  extent 
swept — I  might  say  "petroled" — away,  now 
that  the  automobile  has  bridged  long  dis- 
tances. The  many  empty  houses  in  the  best 
streets  bear  silent  testimony  to  the  power  of 
the  car,  which  does  away  with  the  necessity 
of  taking  a  furnished  house  for  the  season, 
and  enables  people  to  run  up  and  down  from 


156       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

the  country  and  do  theatres  and  balls  with- 
out fatigue. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  automobile  has 
become  one  of  the  most  powerful  enemies  of 
the  Church.  Once  it  was  customary  for 
fashionable  people  to  go  to  fashionable 
churches,  and  to  walk  afterwards  in  the  Park. 
Now,  many  smart  women  often  neglect  their 
duty  to  God  by  not  going  to  church,  and  their 
duty  to  their  neighbour  by  not  showing  off 
their  toilettes  when  the  service  is  over.  In- 
stead of  going  to  church  they  are  off  some- 
where by  car,  and  the  practice  is  steadily 
increasing. 

The  three  arbiters  of  Fashion  when  I  first 
came  to  London  were  Lady  Cork,  the  Hon. 
Mrs.  Lowther  and  Mrs.  Bentinck.  These 
ladies  ruled  Society;  once  "passed"  by  them 
all  was  well,  for  their  verdict  set  the  seal 
of  approval  upon  newcomers  in  the  social 
whirl. 

My  greatest  friends  in  those  days  were  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mahlon  Sands,  who  had  settled  in 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       157 

London  and  went  everywhere.  Mrs.  Sands 
was  a  beautiful  woman  who  possessed  a  great 
power  of  attraction,  and  the  late  King,  then 
Prince  of  Wales,  liked  her  and  her  husband 
and  honoured  them  with  many  proofs  of  his 
friendship. 

I  shared  a  house  in  Town  with  Harry 
Sands,  Mahlon's  brother,  and  Mahlon  and 
his  wife  did  everything  possible  to  enable 
us  to  have  a  good  time. 

I  remember  Mrs.  Sands  once  telling  me  of 
an  occasion  when  the  Prince  of  Wales  hon- 
oured her  with  his  presence  at  dinner.  She 
asked  the  Prince  about  the  guests  he  wished 
to  meet,  and  received  the  charming  reply, 
"All  your  friends  are  delightful,  but  I  must 
ask  you  one  favour,  do  give  me  a  cold  dinner 
all  through."  So  everything,  from  soup  to 
savoury,  was  served  cold,  and  H.R.H.  ex- 
pressed himself  as  delighted. 

Mrs.  Sands  told  me  it  was  wonderful  to 
see  the  pleasure  the  Prince  took  in  small 
things,  and  nothing  delighted  him  more  than 


158       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

to  examine  all  the  presents  which  were  sent 
to  him  on  his  birthday  and  at  Christmas. 

I  met  the  late  King  for  the  first  time  when 
I  went  down,  with  the  Sands',  to  the  house- 
warming  given  at  Waddesdon  Manor  by 
Baron  Ferdinand  de  Rothschild. 

A  most  interesting  house-party  had  been 
invited  to  meet  the  Prince  of  Wales,  among 
them  being  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  White  (the 
former  just  commencing  his  diplomatic  ca- 
reer as  Second  Secretary  at  the  American 
Legation),  Lord  and  Lady  Cadogan,  Mr. 
Arnold  Morley  and  the  beautiful  Lady 
Brooke  (now  Countess  of  Warwick),  who 
was  in  the  zenith  of  her  loveliness. 

I  had  several  opportunities  of  talking  to 
the  Prince,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  im- 
pression which  Edward  the  Peacemaker 
made  upon  me.  He  was  better  as  a  listener 
than  as  a  conversationalist,  but  what  he  said 
was  infinitely  tactful  and  sensible,  and  he 
seemed  to  enter  thoroughly  into  the  subject 
about  which  he  was  talking.  I  told  the 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       159 

Prince  that  I  had  seen  him  on  his  only  visit 
to  America,  when  my  uncle,  who  was  adju- 
tant-general on  Governor  Morgan's  staff,  had 
conducted  him  by  train  to  the  border  of  the 
State  of  Massachusetts.  "When  you  left  the 
train,  sir,"  I  continued,  "you  handed  my 
uncle  a  cigar,  with  some  charming  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  attention.  'Shall  I  light  your 
cigar?'  you  asked." 

"My  uncle  answered  laughingly,  'If  your 
Royal  Highness  will  permit  me,  I  would  pre- 
fer to  keep  it  intact,  so  that  the  souvenir  of 
your  condescension  may  not  end  in  smoke.' ' 

The  Prince  seemed  amused  and  interested, 
and  he  asked  me  what  were  my  impressions 
of  his  visit;  we  discussed  America  and  the 
Americans,  and  I  was  surprised  at  his  knowl- 
edge of  many  things  that  had  happened  on 
the  Other  Side.  He  bade  me  good-night 
with  many  kind  words,  and  I  felt  greatly 
honoured,  for  the  late  King  never  cared 
much  for  American  men.  Mrs.  Sands  once 
asked  him  the  reason,  and  received  the  reply, 


160       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"They  are  not  adaptable,  that's  the  r-r-rea- 
son!"  The  late  King  used  to  tell  Miss  Alice 
de  Rothschild  that  although  American  wom- 
en were  charming,  his  one  adverse  criticism 
was  that  they  passed  judgment  upon  each 
other  too  sharply.  "Whenever  I  ask  Con- 
suelo  Duchess  of  Manchester  about  an  Amer- 
ican lady,"  said  H.R.H.,  "I  am  invariably 
told,  'Oh,  sir,  she  has  no  position  at  home; 
out  there  she  would  be  just  dirt  under  our 
feet.' " 

King  Edward  could  be  very  severe  with 
those  who  overstepped  the  rules  prescribed  by 
etiquette,  and  I  remember  what  happened 
to  an  American  girl  who  offended  him.  At 
a  smart  bazaar,  the  winner  of  a  lucky  lottery 
ticket  had  the  privilege  of  asking  three  wishes 
from  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  Fate  favoured 
a  young  lady  from  the  States. 

"What  is  your  first  wish?"  asked  H.R.H. 

"Oh,  sir,  it  is  to  have  your  photograph." 

The  Prince  beamed.  "Granted,"  he  said. 
"And  the  next?" 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       161 

"I  would  like  you  to  bring  me  the  photo- 
graph in  person." 

H.R.H.  hesitated,  frowned,  and  recovering 
from  his  surprise  answered,  "That  shall  be 
done,  now  what  is  the  last?" 

Never  was  the  truth  of  the  saying  so  appar- 
ent that  "Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to 
tread."  The  young  lady  disregarded  the 
warning  looks  from  those  around  her.  "The 
third  wish,  sir,  is  that  you  will  present  me 
to  the  Princess  of  Wales." 

The  Prince  looked  at  her  coldly.  "Grant- 
ed," he  said,  and  walked  away  without  a 
word.  The  silly  girl  realized  that  she  had 
sinned  against  Society,  which  never  forgives 
fools.  She  made  a  hasty  exit,  and  the  waves 
of  the  social  sea  closed  over  her  for  ever. 

I  thoroughly  enjoyed  my  visit  to  Waddes- 
don,  which  is  a  palatial  residence,  and  I  have 
the  happiest  remembrances  of  the  Roths- 
childs. I  once  asked  Baron  Ferdinand  how 
his  family  had  collected  so  many  beautiful 
pictures,  and  he  told  me  that  in  the  old  days 


162       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

the  Rothschilds  used  to  visit  sales  unnoticed 
and  bid  for  the  pictures  they  fancied.  When 
the  purchase  was  completed  it  was  never 
paid  for  by  cheque,  but  always  in  notes  and 
gold,  and  afterwards  taken  away  in  a  four- 
wheeled  cab. 

Alec  Yorke's  brother,  Eliot  Yorke,  was  the 
first  Christian  to  marry  into  the  house  of 
Rothschild,  when  Miss  Annie  de  Rothschild 
became  his  wife  in  1873.  Her  father  was 
asked  why  on  earth  he  had  so  departed  from 
the  family  traditions,  but  he  merely  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  replied — 

"What  else  could  I  do,  when  I  had  tears 
from  my  wife  and  daughter  from  breakfast- 
time  until  bed-time?" 

I  met  all  kinds  of  delightful  people  at  the 
Sands'  house  in  Portland  Place,  and  I  was 
frequently  invited  to  meet  Mr.  Gladstone  at 
dinner.  It  was  most  interesting  to  hear  his 
views  upon  current  topics,  and  I  remember 
him  saying  with  great  emphasis — 

"Mr.  Martin,  believe  me,  if  you  don't  give 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       163 

the  people  their  rights  they'll  take  them." 
This  remark  was  a  propos  of  a  discussion  he 
was  carrying  on  with  a  member  of  the  Cab- 
inet. They  were  talking  about  the  growth 
of  education  in  the  lower  classes,  and  Mr. 
Gladstone  predicted  the  ultimate  power  of 
the  masses  at  no  distant  day.  "The  schools 
are  now  filled  with  children,"  he  said,  "who, 
when  they  grow  up,  will  think  for  them- 
selves, and  will  not  allow  the  Lord  of  the 
Manor  to  think  for  them." 

I  once  remarked  to  him,  "I  think  it's  mar- 
vellous that  you  can  do  so  much  and  keep 
your  health."  Gladstone  smiled.  "Well,  I 
manage  to  keep  well,  because  I  always  go  to 
the  country  to  recuperate.  I  keep  my  en- 
thusiasm because  I'm  always  on  the  look-out 
for  new  ideas,  no  matter  where  I  may  go, 
and  I  find  that  even  a  child  is  capable  of 
giving  me  a  fresh  thought." 

As  I  looked  at  Gladstone  I  marvelled  at 
his  mental  force  which  defied  age,  and  his 
whole  bearing  was  such  that  he  might  well 


164       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

have  been  taken  for  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  instead  of  one  who  was  nearing  the  end 
of  his  day. 

He  took  a  keen  interest  in  American  de- 
velopment and  the  great  possibilities  latent 
in  the  United  States.  "Ah,  Mr.  Martin,"  he 
would  say,  "you  in  that  New  Country  pos- 
sess such  vitality  and  power  that  the  very 
winds  which  come  from  the  Atlantic  bear 
sufficient  strength  on  their  wings  to  brush 
away  many  of  the  cobwebs  of  prejudice  which 
still  cling  to  the  Old  World." 

Mr.  Gladstone's  greatest  charm  was  his 
simplicity  of  manner,  and  the  intense  interest 
he  showed  when  he  listened  to  the  conversa- 
tion of  others.  He  had  a  perfect  obsession 
about  the  value  and  importance  of  the  Press, 
and  he  often  said  to  Mrs.  Sands,  "The  golden 
rule  of  daily  life  is  to  commence  the  morning 
with  your  newspaper.  Read  what  has  hap- 
pened the  day  before,  or  you  will  never  keep 
in  touch  with  the  world." 

I  often  think  of  my  dear  friends  Mr.  and 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       165 

Mrs.  Sands,  who  are  both  dead,  and  I  do 
not  think  that  the  house  in  Portland  Place 
will  ever  again  have  such  charming  occu- 
pants. I  wonder  whether  personalities  cling 
to  houses,  especially  when  those  who  lived  in 
them  were  people  of  temperament.  It  is 
certain  that  some  dwellings  have  the  faculty 
of  inspiring  peace,  while  others  have  a  con- 
trary effect,  but  luckily  for  most  tenants  it  is 
only  the  supersensitive  who  receive  these 
uncanny  impressions. 

Mahlon  Sands  predeceased  his  wife.  He 
was  a  very  able  man,  and  I  believe  he  would 
have  made  his  mark  in  American  politics  if 
he  had  had  an  ambition  that  way.  I  remem- 
ber once  hearing  a  story  about  him  when 
Senator  Conkling  was  laying  down  the  law 
at  a  dinner  in  New  York.  Sands  seemed 
somewhat  abstracted,  which  annoyed  the 
speaker,  who  rapped  the  table  sharply  and 
said  in  acid  accents — 

"Young  man,  you're  a  very  poor  listener." 
Mahlon  smiled  sweetly  at  the  Senator.  "Well, 


166       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

that  depends,"  said  he,  "upon  who's  doing 
the  talking." 

Poor  Sands,  he  met  with  a  fatal  accident 
when  riding  in  the  Park,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  agonized  appeals  of  his  wife  to  the 
doctors  at  St.  George's  Hospital.  Minnie 
Sands  was  one  of  those  women  who  cannot 
exist  without  love.  Her  husband  represented 
to  her  all  that  made  life  worth  living,  and 
after  he  died  she  did  not  wish  to  live.  "Bet- 
ter death  than  life  without  thee,"  wrote  a 
heroine  of  the  Renaissance,  and  this  applied 
to  Minnie  Sands.  I  was  the  last  friend  who 
saw  her  on  the  day  of  her  sudden  end.  As 
I  said  good-bye  she  placed  her  hands  on  my 
shoulders. 

"Fred,"  she  whispered,  "you've  been  such 
a  comfort  to  me  in  my  sorrowful  hours." 

"Ah,  Minnie,"  I  answered,  "but  is  it  not 
good  that  you  can  look  back  on  your  brilliant 
days?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  "but  sometimes  I  fear 
I  spoilt  my  husband's  career  when  I  asked 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       167 

him  to  live  in  England,  he  had  such  great 
talents.  I  wonder  whether  he  ever  felt  sorry 
he  didn't  take  up  a  political  life." 

"He  never  regretted  his  career,"  I  assured 
her,  "for  his  love  for  you  was  stronger  than 
his  ambition." 

I  said  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Sands  and  prom- 
ised to  come  again  very  soon,  but  little  did  I 
dream  that  I  had  seen  her  for  the  last  time. 
After  I  left  the  house  my  poor  friend  went 
to  lie  down  in  her  boudoir,  and  there  Death, 
sudden  and  merciful,  came  and  transported 
her  to  the  land  where  "ills  have  no  weight 
and  tears  no  bitterness." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Cowes:  Pleasant  Recollections:  I  meet  the  late 
King:  The  value  of  royal  anecdotes:  A  reviewer's 
disapproval :  Viscount  de  Stern :  Alexander  Yorke : 
A  wonderful  mimic:  He  imitates  Queen  Victoria: 
A  summons  at  the  window:  "I'm  a  done  man": 
The  Prince's  command:  "What  will  the  Queen 
say?":  Alec  plays  hymns:  I  meet  Sir  Oscar  Clay- 
ton: A  distinguished  physician:  His  weakness  for 
titles:  "I've  met  seven  Duchesses":  It  is  worry 
that  kills:  Want  of  money  often  the  root  of 
bodily  evil:  Cheques  instead  of  prescriptions:  The 
Prince  comes  to  supper:  The  missing  singers: 
H.R.H.  consoles  Stern:  "A  Feast  of  Lanterns": 
An  English  peerage  for  £70,000:  Lord  Wands- 
worth  :  An  election  story :  Mrs.  Mackay  at  Cowes : 
Her  marvellous  jewels:  Dancing  the  "Boston": 
Lady  Henry  Lennox:  What  constitutes  enjoy- 
ment?: Cowes  recalls  Cannes:  The  Earthquake: 
The  late  King  at  Cannes:  Mrs.  Campbell  of 
Craigie:  "Lend  me  your  valet":  He  pours  the 
coffee  over  the  cloth:  H.R.H.'s  kindness:  Adele 
Grant  and  Lord  Cairns :  Monte  Carlo :  Gambling 
resorts  in  the  sixties:  The  four  friends:  Garcia: 
168 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       169 

His  system:  The  Prince  and  the  gambler:  Dis- 
reputable company:  Where  dH  the  Duchesses 
come  in?:  The  clergyman  and  his  daughters: 
Playing  by  proxy:  Twice  lucky:  Why  "twenty- 
three"  was  wrong 

SOME  of  my  most  pleasant  recollections  linger 
around  Cowes,  where  I  have  spent  many 
"weeks"  and  where  I  often  had  the  honour 
of  meeting  the  late  King. 

I  have  observed  that  a  certain  section  of 
the  English  Press  appears  to  disapprove  of 
the  publication  of  anecdotes  of  a  "human" 
character  concerning  King  Edward,  and  I 
remember  that  one  of  the  leading  Sunday 
newspapers  severely  criticized  a  recent  book 
of  Recollections  because  it  contained  what 
the  reviewer  described  as  "trivial"  stories 
about  the  late  King.  The  critic,  who  was 
obviously  sincere,  implied  that  it  was  bad 
taste  on  the  part  of  people  who  had  met 
King  Edward  to  talk  about  him  as  a  man; 
in  fact,  he  practically  dubbed  them  pre- 
sumptuous. 


170       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  think  that  anecdotes  of  the  late  King 
which  show  him  in  a  kindly  light  possess 
considerable  interest  to  this  generation,  for 
in  a  manner  they  keep  green  the  memory  of 
a  monarch  who  was  intensely  admired  by  his 
subjects — thousands  of  whom  were  in  sym- 
pathy with  him  as  a  man  who  loved  life  and 
always  got  the  best  out  of  it. 

I  spent  one  delightful  week  at  Cowes  as 
the  guest  of  Viscount  de  Stern  (who  was 
afterwards  created  Lord  Wandsworth),  and 
among  his  guests  was  the  Hon.  Alexander 
Yorke,  then  Gentleman-in-Waiting  to  Queen 
Victoria. 

Alec  Yorke  was  a  wonderful  mimic,  and  he 
could  imitate  Queen  Victoria  to  perfection; 
his  facial  resemblance  to  his  Royal  Mistress 
was  positively  astounding  when  he  used  to 
twist  a  dinner-napkin  into  a  cap,  and  act  the 
Queen  to  the  life;  it  was  rather  disrespectful, 
but  it  was  certainly  very  amusing. 

One  evening  I  got  back  late  to  my  host's 
cottage,  and  just  as  I  had  fallen  asleep  I  was 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       171 

awakened  by  some  gravel  being  thrown  up 
at  my  window.  I  got  out  of  bed,  opened  the 
window,  and  heard  Alec  say,  in  disconsolate 
tones — 

"Fred,  for  goodness'  sake  let  me  in,  I'm  a 
done  man." 

I  at  once  went  downstairs,  unbolted  the 
door,  and  Yorke  appeared,  looking  the  pic- 
ture of  misery. 

"What  ever  is  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"There's  the  devil  to  pay,"  he  replied 
gloomily.  "I  went  to  a  supper  party  at  Lady 
Mandeville's  to-night,  and  H.R.H.  was  pres- 
ent. After  supper  the  Prince  said  to  me, 
'Oh,  Mr.  Yorke,  will  you  give  us  some  "imi- 
tations"? I  hear  you  can  take  off  my  mother 
very  well.  Please  do  so.' 

"  'Oh,  sir,  pray  excuse  me,'  I  begged. 
What  will  the  Queen  say  if  it  gets  to  her 
ears?  She'll  never  forgive  me.'  But  H.R.H. 
commanded,  and  I  had  to  obey." 

I  said  nothing,  but  from  what  I  knew  of 
the  Queen's  character  I  entirely  sympathized 


172       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

with  my  friend.  Alec,  in  his  anxiety,  con- 
tinued, "The  worst  of  it  is  that  the  Queen 
told  one  of  the  Ladies-in-Waiting  that  she 
had  been  informed  I  could  mimic,  but  that 
she  would  never  believe  I  could  possibly  be 
so  vulgar." 

I  do  not  know  whether  Queen  Victoria 
ever  heard  of  what  had  taken  place,  but  I 
fancy  not,  for  she  was  always  very  fond  of 
Yorke,  and  loved  to  hear  him  play  her  fa- 
vourite hymns.  Alec  used  to  tell  me  that  it 
was  rather  touching  to  hear  the  Queen  at- 
tempt to  sing  a  hymn  which  appealed  to  her, 
for  her  musical  voice  had  long  gone,  and  she 
had  to  content  herself  with  merely  repeating 
the  words,  which  she  did  with  infinite 
pathos. 

Sir  Oscar  Clayton  was  another  of  Viscount 
de  Stern's  guests.  He  was  a  quaint-looking 
little  man,  a  distinguished  physician,  and  a 
great  favourite  with  the  late  King,  whose 
recovery  from  typhoid  fever  was  always  at- 
tributed to  Sir  Oscar's  skill. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       173 

The  Physician  to  the  Household  had  one 
harmless  weakness:  he  dearly  loved  a  Lord, 
and  I  remember  once  hearing  him  say  with 
tremendous  pride,  "I've  been  in  luck  to-day, 
I've  met  no  less  than  seven  Duchesses!"  Sir 
Oscar  was  a  kindly  man,  and  when  I  com- 
plimented him  upon  his  wonderful  success  in 
his  profession,  he  replied  with  a  smile:  "Ah, 
Mr.  Martin,  I  should  have  been  far  more 
successful  if  I  had  sometimes  been  able  to 
write  cheques  instead  of  prescriptions  for  my 
patients.  I  have  not  reached  the  age  of 
eighty-three  without  knowing  that  worry 
kills  most  people,  and  that  want  of  money 
is  often  the  root  of  bodily  evil." 

One  day  Stern  came  in  to  lunch  looking 
well  pleased,  for  the  Prince  of  Wales  had 
told  him  he  would  sup  at  the  Cottage  that 
evening.  The  party  was  to  be  a  small  one, 
and  Stern  telegraphed  to  Town  for  some 
singers,  who  were  expected  to  arrive  at  Cowes 
by  a  late  boat.  The  servants  spent  a  busy 
afternoon  decorating  the  garden  with  Japan- 


174 

ese  lanterns,  and  at  night  it  looked  like  a 
veritable  fairyland  scene. 

After  dinner  the  Viscount  was  on  tenter- 
hooks lest  the  singers  should  disappoint  him, 
and  his  feelings  can  be  better  imagined  than 
described  when  the  last  boat  came  in  without 
them.  He  was  like  one  distraught,  and  when 
the  Prince  arrived  with  Lord  Suffield  he  at 
once  noticed  his  host's  distress. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  H.R.H. 

"Oh,  sir,"  replied  Stern,  "I've  done  my 
best  to  endeavour  to  entertain  you,  but  the 
boat's  arrived  without  the  singers." 

"Is  that  all?"  laughed  the  Prince.  "Well, 
don't  let  it  trouble  you,  for  what  could  be 
more  delightful  than  your  illuminated  gar- 
den? And  I  am  sure  that  no  music  could 
possibly  come  up  to  this  Fete  des  Lanternes." 

The  situation  was  saved  by  the  Prince's 
tact;  his  host  forgot  his  disappointment, 
and  the  evening  ended  in  a  most  pleasant 
manner. 

The  Viscount  was  always  a  little  ashamed 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       175 

of  his  foreign  title,  and  I  remember  an 
amusing  election  story  about  him.  He  had 
asked  me  to  address  his  constituents,  but  be- 
fore we  went  to  the  meeting  I  was  struck  by 
Stern's  disconsolate  expression.  "Come,"  I 
said,  "what  on  earth's  the  matter?"  "Well," 
he  replied,  "it  has  just  occurred  to  me  that 
what  with  my  foreign  title  and  your  Amer- 
ican accent  my  political  career  will  be  about 
finished  to-night."  I  assured  him  that  I  was 
not  dying  to  address  the  electors,  and  I  am 
glad  to  say  we  did  not  make  such  a  bad 
impression  as  he  anticipated. 

The  Viscount  always  looked  on  the  £70,000 
which  his  mother  gave  the  Party  as  a  good 
investment,  for  it  ultimately  enabled  him  to 
change  his  name.  When  Mr.  Gladstone  gave 
up  office,  Viscount  de  Stern,  of  the  kingdom 
of  Portugal,  much  to  his  delight,  became 
Lord  Wandsworth,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed 
his  elevation,  by  draft,  to  the  English  peer- 
age. 

I  met  Mrs.  John  Mackay  for  the  first  time 


176       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

at  Cowes,  where  she  had  with  her,  as  her 
guests,  Mr.  James  Brown-Potter  and  his 
beautiful  wife,  who  afterwards  adopted  a 
stage  career  with  varying  success.  I  remem- 
ber every  one  at  "Egypt"  talking  about  Mrs. 
Mackay,  and  the  women  were  on  the  edge 
of  expectation  to  see  what  jewels  she  would 
wear  at  Mrs.  Laurence's  ball.  I  arrived 
rather  early,  and  every  lady  present  seemed 
to  look  like  the  contents  of  a  jeweller's  win- 
dow, so  dazzling  were  the  diamonds.  I 
suppose  the  display  was  for  Mrs.  Mackay's 
benefit,  and  was  meant  to  imply,  "Well,  you 
may  possess  jewels  of  untold  value,  but  we 
are  not  quite  out  of  the  running." 

At  last  the  name  of  Mrs.  John  Mackay  was 
announced,  and  everybody  turned  to  look, 
fully  expecting  to  see  a  walking  Golconda. 
Instead  of  that,  there  appeared  a  young  and 
charming  woman,  dressed  in  white,  'without 
a  single  jewel! 

Mrs.  Mackay  must  have  enjoyed  the  sen- 
sation her  simplicity  created,  and  I  had  the 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       177 

pleasure  of  dancing  the  cotillion  with  her. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  danced  with  Lady  Ver- 
non;  his  son  Prince  George,  then  a  shy  young 
naval  officer,  had  Lady  Mandeville  for  a 
partner,  and  when  it  was  over  Mrs.  Mackay 
suggested  that  we  should  dance  the  Boston. 

Nobody  seemed  familiar  with  the  step,  so 
we  danced  it  alone,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  the  lookers-on.  When  we  had  finished, 
the  Prince  took  out  Mrs.  Mackay,  who  ini- 
tiated him  into  the  mysteries  of  the  dance,  and 
soon  everybody  was  trying  to  "Boston," 
which  speedily  became  most  popular  at 
Cowes. 

I  always  enjoyed  myself  at  Cowes,  and  I 
was  "put  down"  for  the  week  at  the  R.Y.S. 
by  Lord  Suffield,  while  Lord  Henry  Gordon 
Lennox  did  the  same  for  my  friend  Sands. 

The  late  Lady  Henry  Lennox  was  quite  a 
character.  One  day,  when  she  was  lunching 
with  Viscount  de  Stern,  the  conversation 
turned  upon  the  pleasures  of  life.  Every  one 
present  gave  his  or  her  idea  of  what  consti- 


178       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

tuted  enjoyment;  some  decreed  for  balls, 
others  for  Musicales,  and  at  last  Lady  Henry 
remarked,  in  her  impressive  manner,  speak- 
ing with  a  slight  drawl — 

"Oh  .  .  .  well  .  .  .  for  myself  I  like  din- 
ners better  than  anything  else." 

"Dinners!"  exclaimed  her  host.  "My  dear 
Lady  Henry,  surely  you  are  not  a  gourmet!" 

"Oh  ...  no  ..."  drawled  the  lady;  "I 
like  dinners  because  I  know  I  am  certain 
to  have  a  man  on  either  side  of  me  who  can't 
get  away." 

Whenever  I  think  of  Cowes  it  invariably 
calls  to  my  mind  Cannes,  where  I  have  passed 
some  happy  days,  although  one  of  my  visits 
there  was  saddened  by  the  news  of  my  dear 
father's  illness  and  death.  That  March  was 
cold  and  stormy,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
earthquake  which  did  such  tremendous  dam- 
age in  France  and  Northern  Italy.  I  was 
staying  with  old  Mrs.  Sands  at  the  Villa 
Soleil  when  I  was  awakened  by  the  whole 
house  rocking  like  a  ship  at  sea.  I  heard 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       179 

screams  of  terror;  people  rushed  down  the 
corridor  to  escape  into  the  open,  and  I  lost 
no  time  in  following  their  example. 

Every  one  was  nearly  mad  with  fear,  and 
it  is  impossible  to  describe  the  awful  sensa- 
tion of  the  rolling  and  heaving  earth;  in- 
deed, for  years  afterwards  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  cart  passing  would  make  my  mind 
revert  to  my  first  and  terrible  experience  of 
an  earthquake. 

The  late  King  was  at  Cannes  in  the  eigh- 
ties, and  I  remember  once  receiving  an  agi- 
tated message  from  Mrs.  Campbell  of  Craigie 
bidding  me  come  to  her  cottage  at  once. 
"My  dear  Fred  Martin,"  she  announced, 
"I'm  in  an  awful  dilemma.  The  Prince 
proposes  to  dine  with  me  to-morrow  night, 
and  I've  only  two  men-servants.  Could  you 
lend  me  your  valet?" 

"Of  course,"  said  I,  and  my  man  was  most 
excited  at  the  idea  of  waiting  on  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  All  went  well  until  coffee  was 
served,  when  my  factotum  lost  his  head,  and 


180       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

poured  the  coffee  over  the  cloth  instead  of  in 
H.R.H.'s  cup.  The  late  King  showed  on 
this  occasion  another  instance  of  his  usual 
kindness.  He  turned  to  the  man,  who  was 
positively  panic-stricken,  and  said,  "Now, 
don't  mind;  it  wasn't  your  fault;  you  were 
nervous,"  and  my  servant's  comment  to  me 
afterwards  was,  "Oh,  sir,  fancy  his  Royal 
Highness  being  so  considerate.  What  luck 
for  England  to  be  ruled  one  day  by  a  man 
like  that." 

I  was  at  Cannes  in  1886,  when  Miss  Adele 
Grant,  now  Lady  Essex,  accepted  Lord 
Cairns,  and  I  remember  how  her  fiance  went 
off  to  Genoa  in  search  of  camellias,  which 
were  massed  in  a  floral  boat  and  presented 
to  her.  Tommy  Cheyne,  then  a  little  boy, 
sat  in  the  boat,  and  every  one  wished  luck  to 
another  Anglo-American  alliance. 

That  night  I  danced  with  Miss  Berens, 
and  she  remarked  how  happy  Lord  Cairns 
looked.  Little  did  we  dream  that  the  blind 
god  was  even  then  pulling  the  strings  of  Fate, 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       181 

and  that  Miss  Berens,  instead  of  Adele  Grant, 
was  destined  to  become  Lady  Cairns. 

In  those  days  I  often  used  to  go  over  to 
Monte  Carlo,  which  was  then  a  camping- 
ground  of  the  aristocracy,  instead  of  being 
what  it  has  now  become  a  rendezvous  for 
tourists.  Monte  has  never  appealed  to  my 
gambling  instincts,  but  I  have  always  been 
interested  and  amused  in  watching  the  play. 
It  is  frankly  acknowledged  that  the  odds  are 
against  the  players  to  the  extent  of  one  and 
a  half  per  cent  at  trente-et-quarante,  and 
three  per  cent,  at  roulette,  and  many  have 
been  the  "systems"  invented  to  break  the 
Bank. 

Some  years  ago  four  young  men  determined 
to  make  a  tour  of  the  gambling  resorts,  and 
they  agreed  that  directly  one  of  them  lost  a 
hundred  pounds  all  should  stop  play  and 


"move  on." 


At  Spa,  one  of  the  friends  lost  a  hundred 
pounds  almost  at  once,  but  the  other  three 
won  respectively  fifty,  eighty  and  two  hun- 


dred  pounds.  They  made  a  move  to  Wies- 
baden, where  fortune  favoured  them  with  a 
gain  of  three  thousand  pounds.  On  the 
second  night  a  hundred  pounds  was  lost,  and 
true  to  the  spirit  of  the  compact,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  Homburg,  from  thence  to  Ems, 
then  to  Baden,  and  finally  they  arrived  at 
Monte  Carlo. 

Three  of  them  won  small  sums,  but  the 
fourth,  who  had  placed  ten  louis  at  a  time 
on  the  transversal,  and  guarded  it  by  putting 
a  five-franc  piece  on  zero,  won  a  great  deal 
of  money.  The  next  night  one  of  the  party 
lost  a  hundred  pounds,  and  they  all  returned 
to  London. 

The  tour  resulted  in  an  aggregate  gain  for 
the  four  friends  of  fifty  thousand  dollars; 
but,  sad  to  relate,  each  of  the  men  lost  the 
whole  of  his  gains  at  subsequent  visits  to 
the  tables. 

The  great  gambler  Garcia  played  his  sys- 
tem at  Baden  in  the  'sixties,  and  retired  with 
a  fortune  of  a  million  dollars,  which  he 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       183 

eventually  lost  when  he  returned  to  Spain. 
Garcia  would  pay  a  thousand  francs  for  a 
vacant  place,  and  on  one  occasion  the  Prince 
of  Monaco,  who  was  passing  through  the 
rooms,  stopped  to  speak  to  the  gambler. 

"I  shall  soon  win  all  your  money,"  re- 
marked Garcia. 

"You  may  win  some  of  that  which  I  have 
already  won,"  replied  the  Prince,  with  a 
shrug,  "but  the  more  you  and  your  system 
succeed,  the  greater  will  be  the  number  of 
fools  who  will  try  and  imitate  you." 

At  one  time  Baden-Baden  was  a  regular 
meeting-place  for  the  European  aristocracy, 
and  many  royalties  amused  themselves  with 
the  roulette  wheel.  It  is  recorded  that  a 
country  squire  once  remarked,  as  he  looked 
round  the  rooms,  "What  a  hateful  place!  I 
can't  possibly  stop  another  instant  with  these 
disreputable  people." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  his  friend,  "what 
do  you  mean?  Why,  there  are  three  English 
Duchesses  sitting  at  one  table." 


184       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

The  superstitions  are  many'  to  which  the 
gambler  pins  his  faith.  He  will  play  on  the 
number  of  his  room  at  the  hotel;  he  will 
fancy  the  figures  of  a  friend's  age,  and  he  will 
even  try  to  tempt  fortune  with  the  number 
of  a  hymn.  A  propos  of  numbers,  I  remem- 
ber hearing  a  story  about  a  friend  of  mine 
who  was  walking  one  day  in  the  Casino 
Gardens,  where  he  met  an  old  clergyman, 
accompanied  by  his  three  daughters. 

The  girls  were  very  anxious  to  inspect  the 
rooms,  and,  after  much  persuasion,  their 
father  allowed  my  friend  to  take  them 
through.  "And  remember  you  are  not  to 
play,"  he  added,  as  a  parting  injunction. 

When  the  girls  arrived  their  guide  turned 
to  them.  "Look  here,"  said  he,  "although 
you  are  forbidden  to  play,  I  will  put  on  some 
money  for  you.  What's  your  age?"  he  asked 
the  youngest  one. 

"Seventeen,"  she  answered. 

He  promptly  put  a  louis  on  the  number 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       185 

seventeen  at  the  roulette  table.  The  little 
ball  fell  into  the  number  seventeen,  and 
thirty-five  louis  were  handed  to  the  gambler 
by  proxy. 

At  the  next  table  my  friend  turned  to  the 
second  girl.  "What's  yours?"  he  asked. 

"Nineteen,"  she  replied,  and  nineteen 
came  up. 

"Well,"  said  my  friend  to  the  third  daugh- 
ter. "Come  along,  last  but  not  least." 

"Twenty-three  is  mine,"  she  answered  de- 
murely. 

A  louis  was  put  on  twenty-three,  but  un- 
fortunately twenty-six  came  up.  The  un- 
lucky third  bore  her  disappointment  like  a 
philosopher,  and  the  little  party  strolled 
through  the  grounds,  my  friend  walking 
ahead  with  "sweet  seventeen." 

"If  I  were  to  tell  this  story,"  said  he,  "I 
should  be  asked  if  my  name  was  Ananias. 
Nobody  would  believe  that  the  numbers  of 
your  age  and  your  sister's  came  up  as  they 


186       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

did,  and  if  your  third  sister  had  been  lucky 
I  should  have  been  told  to  read  the  story 
of  George  Washington,  and  lay  it  to  heart." 

"But,"  replied  the  youngest  of  the  three 
Graces,  "my  sister's  age  did  come  up." 

"Great  Scott,  it  didn't!"  exclaimed  my 
friend. 

"Hush!"  whispered  the  girl.  "Lillie  told 
you  wrongly,  for  she  is  not  twenty-three,  but 
twenty-six !" 


CHAPTER    IX 

My  first  meet:  Neville  Holt:  Lady  Clarendon: 
A  visit  to  Berkeley  Castle:  Where  King  Edward 
II  was  murdered:  Old-fashioned  formality  at 
Berkeley  Castle:  Harry  Sands  does  not  put  in  an 
appearance  at  breakfast:  I  explain  the  reason: 
House  or  hotel:  A  peeress  of  the  old  regime: 
Morning  and  evening  prayers  at  Lady  Galway's: 
Careless  domesticity:  The  woman  who  didn't 
know  her  own  house:  The  late  Lady  Holland:  I 
take  tea  with  her:  A  family  spectre:  Lowther 
Lodge:  Singleton:  A  tragic  visit:  Sudden  death 
of  Lord  Swansea :  A  night  of  terror :  I  see  Coombe 
Abbey  for  the  first  time:  Tranby  Croft:  Mrs. 
Arthur  Wilson's  kindness:  Her  superstition:  The 
opal  necklace:  Jewels  and  their  wearers:  Mrs. 
Bradley  Martin  acquires  some  of  the  French 
Crown  Jewels:  Marie  Antoinette's  necklace:  "A 
band  of  blood":  The  story  of  the  missing  pendant: 
The  butler's  secret:  A  thief  in  the  night:  The 
pearl  snatcher :  Andrew  Carnegie  vetoes  the  wear- 
ing of  jewels:  A  relic  of  barbarism:  Simplicity 
versus  Sapphires :  The  late  Duchess  of  Devonshire : 
187 


188       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Her  love  of  money:  A  great  social  leader:  An 
Ascot  story:  James  R.  Keene  and  the  Duchess: 
A  ladies'  luncheon:  The  best  for  a  debutante: 
"Beauty,  wealth  or  brains?":  The  women's  ver- 
dict: I  visit  Cawdor  Castle:  "Not  angles,  but 
angels":  From  Cawdor  to  Culloden:  Moy  Hall: 
Relics  of  Prince  Charlie:  King  George  V  praises 
the  shooting:  Charlcote:  The  woods:  The  stately 
homes  of  England :  Sacred  trusts :  The  death-duties 
which  never  leave  us :  I  must  not  moralize :  Mrs. 
Stuyvesant  Fish  prevents  me  from  sermonizing 

I  WENT  to  my  first  "meet"  when  I  was  stay- 
ing with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mahlon  Sands,  who 
had  taken  a  small  house  near  Market  Har- 
bo rough  for  the  hunting.  My  friend  the 
late  Lady  Clarendon  had  a  place  close  by, 
and  we  all  went  over  to  Sir  Bache  Cunard's 
at  Neville  Holt  where  there  was  a  hunt 
breakfast. 

I  thought  that  the  old  grey  house  made 
a  picturesque  background  for  the  animated 
scene,  and  Lady  Clarendon,  a  charming  un- 
spoilt woman,  took  any  amount  of  trouble  to 
enlighten  my  ignorance.  Although  it  is  years 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       189 

ago  I  have  never  forgotten  my  first  impres- 
sion of  this  typically  English  sight,  and  when- 
ever I  motor  over  to  the  Cunards  I  invari- 
ably think  of  the  winter  morning  when  I 
first  saw  Neville  Holt. 

One  of  my  most  interesting  country-house 
visits  was  when  Harry  Sands  and  I  went  to 
stay  with  the  Fitzhardinges  at  Berkeley 
Castle.  I  thought  it  a  remarkable  place, 
and  its  historical  associations  made  a  strong 
appeal  to  me. 

Lord  Fitzhardinge  took  me  down  a  flight 
of  stone  steps  into  the  gloomy  dungeon  where 
Edward  II  was  murdered.  "Tradition  has 
it,"  said  Lord  Fitzhardinge,  "that  Isabella  of 
France  remained  at  the  top  of  the  steps  down 
which  we  have  just  come,  and  listened  to  the 
agonized  shrieks  of  her  dying  husband."  I 
glanced  almost  apprehensively  around  me,  for 
the  dampness  and  the  darkness  seemed  to 
smell  of  the  grave. 

A  good  deal  of  old-fashioned  formality 
was  observed  at  Berkeley  Castle,  and  the 


190       THIXGS    I    REMEMBER 

house  party  assembled  every  morning  in  the 
drawing-room,  where  we  waited  until  break- 
fast was  announced. 

The  first  day  after  my  arrival  I  noticed 
that  my  host  seemed  rather  fidgety,  and  at 
last  he  turned  to  me,  and  said  in  a  querulous 
tone:  "Where's  that  friend  of  yours?  We 
are  waiting  for  him."  I  at  once  explained 
that  Harry  Sands  invariably  shunned  break- 
fast and  consoled  himself  with  coffee  in  his 
room.  Lord  Fitzhardinge's  brow  cleared, 
and  he  said  to  the  pompous  butler,  who  wras 
standing  by  the  door,  "All  is  well,  Nelson- 
serve  breakfast." 

I  must  confess  to  a  liking  for  some  degree 
of  ceremonial;  it  is  perhaps  more  comfort- 
able for  guests  to  come  down  whenever  they 
please  and  treat  their  host's  house  like  an 
hotel,  but  I  think  that  the  dignity  of  home 
life  somehow  suffers. 

Lady  Galway  was  one  of  the  old  regime, 
and  whenever  I  stopped  at  her  house  I  was 
conscious  that  she  was  tremendously  opposed 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       191 

to  any  laxity  in  manners.  We  used  to  have 
morning  and  evening  prayers,  to  which  all 
the  servants  came,  and  I  could  not  help  ad- 
miring the  solemnity  and  decorum  of  the 
domestics,  who  seemed  to  be  quite  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  religious  observances  of  their 
mistress. 

Lady  Galway  had  a  little  weakness  for  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice,  and  she  occasionally 
spoke  in  public  whenever  the  spirit  moved 
her. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Martin,"  she  used  to  say,  "Eng- 
lish people  require  a  tremendous  amount  to 
awaken  their  interest,  and  it  is  very  difficult 
to  hold  their  attention.  However,  I  have 
one  resource  which  never  fails  me,  when- 
ever I  see  my  audience  beginning  to  get 
dull." 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well,"  said  my  hostess,  "at  the  very  first 
yawn  I  begin  to  talk  about  the  British  Navy. 
That  wakes  them  up." 

I  often  remember  my  dignified  hostess,  and 


192       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

think  what  a  contrast  her  home  presented  to 
the  rushing,  careless  domesticity  of  to-day. 
People  take  little  or  no  interest  in  their  sur- 
roundings ;  indeed,  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance 
used  to  be  so  seldom  at  home  that  her  people 
were  nervous  whenever  she  went  out  lest  she 
should  forget  her  own  house,  so  great  a 
stranger  was  she  there. 

The  late  Lady  Holland  was  another  typi- 
cal grande  dame  of  bygone  days,  and  I  re- 
member taking  tea  with  her  at  Holland 
House.  She  had  a  particularly  charming 
manner,  and  she  told  me  a  great  many  in- 
teresting things  about  her  old-world  resi- 
dence, including  the  ghost  story  of  the  first 
Lord  Holland,  who  is  supposed  to  come 
through  a  secret  door  at  midnight  to  revisit 
the  abode  of  his  former  life.  The  phantom 
carries  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  on  one 
side  of  the  secret  door  are  blood-stains  which 
have  never  been  effaced. 

"I  shall  be  the  last  of  my  name  to  live 
here,"  said  Lady  Holland,  with  the  suspicion 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       193 

of  a  break  in  her  voice.  "After  my  death 
the  house  will  become  the  property  of  Lord 
Ilchester  and  his  heirs,  and  I  do  trust  that 
it  will  always  fall  into  reverent  hands." 

Lowther  Lodge  lies  on  the  direct  road  to 
Kensington,  and  my  dear  friends,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  William  Lowther,  resided  there.  Mrs. 
Lowther  was  "great"  on  early  rising,  and 
never  allowed  her  daughters  to  stop  in  bed 
to  breakfast  after  a  ball;  in  fact,  she  called 
them  in  the  morning  herself.  The  house 
was  then  quite  one  of  the  show-places  in 
London,  and  the  Lowthers  gave  delightful 
garden-parties  in  their  beautiful  grounds, 
where  occasionally  outdoor  plays  were  acted 
on  the  lawn. 

I  have  always  been  fortunate  enough  to 
receive  invitations  to  many  pleasant  houses, 
but  I  shall  never  forget  the  tragic  experience 
which  befell  me  at  Singleton  when  I  went 
on  a  visit  to  Lord  Swansea. 

I  left  Town  one  dark,  rainy  day,  and  ar- 
rived at  Swansea  after  what  seemed  an  in- 


194       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

terminable  journey,  but  I  soon  forgot  the 
discomforts  of  travel  in  the  warm  welcome 
given  me  by  my  host  and  hostess.  I  had 
barely  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  which  was 
a  cheery  meal,  and  our  host  told  us  a  fund 
of  anecdotes  connected  with  the  days  when 
he  was  Sir  Hussey  Vivian. 

I  was  unable  to  sleep  that  night  as  a  regu- 
lar hurricane  raged  outside,  for  the  house, 
which  was  close  to  the  sea,  was  exposed  to 
the  full  fury  of  the  gale.  I  tossed  and 
turned  from  side  to  side,  thinking  of  all  the 
unpleasant  things  which  usually  assail  the 
sleepless,  when  suddenly  I  heard  a  knock 
at  my  door  and  a  terrified  voice  called 
out — 

"Mr.  Martin!  Mr.  Martin!  do  you  know 
anything  about  illness?  Papa  has  been  taken 
ill;  do  come  with  me  and  see  what  is  the 
matter." 

I  put  on  a  dressing-gown,  and  directly  I 
saw  Miss  Vivian's  face  I  realized  that  some- 
thing alarming  had  happened.  The  gale 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       195 

shook  the  house,  and  the  draught  nearly  ex- 
tinguished the  candle  I  was  carrying,  as  I 
followed  the  poor  girl  to  her  father's  room, 
where  Lady  Swansea  was  crouching  by  the 
bed,  crying  bitterly. 

Lord  Swansea  lay  unconscious,  and  the 
butler  and  two  footmen  were  doing  their  ut- 
most to  restore  animation.  As  I  bent  over  my 
unfortunate  host  I  shivered,  and  felt  almost 
sure  that  he  was  dead.  I  went  to  the  dress- 
ing-table and  took  a  mirror,  which  I  held 
over  Lord  Swansea's  mouth,  but  the  surface 
remained  undimmed. 

I  felt  completely  unnerved  by  the  shock, 
but  I  managed  to  control  my  feelings  and 
take  Lady  Swansea  to  her  boudoir,  where  I 
left  her  with  her  daughter.  That  never-to- 
be-forgotten  night  had  one  happy  result,  for 
a  great  friendship  has  existed  ever  since  be- 
tween the  family  and  myself;  indeed,  Lady 
Swansea  has  often  said  that  Fate  must  have 
led  me  to  her  at  a  time  when  all  her  sons 
were  away  from  home. 


196       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

The  first  time  I  visited  Coombe  Abbey  was 
in  1884  when  Lady  Mary  Loyd  had  just 
taken  it  for  five  years.  "Who  does  this  place 
belong  to?"  I  asked. 

"To  a  young  boy  of  fourteen — Lord 
Craven,"  replied  Lady  Mary. 

Little  did  I  think  that  the  young  boy  was 
destined  later  to  marry  my  niece,  or  that  I 
should  ever  come  to  look  upon  Coombe  as  a 
second  home! 

I  have  very  pleasant  memories  of  Tranby 
Croft,  and  my  friend,  Mrs.  Arthur  Wilson, 
was  an  ideal  hostess.  I  owe  her  many  de- 
lightful hours  spent  at  various  places  of  in- 
terest, for  Mrs.  Wilson,  who  believed  in  let- 
ting me  see  all  there  was  to  be  seen,  drove 
me  somewhere  fresh  every  day  until  I  had 
thoroughly  explored  the  surrounding  coun- 
try. My  hostess  had  one  superstition  which 
she  has  shared  with  many  others — she  con- 
sidered opals  very  unlucky;  indeed,  Mrs. 
Wilson  went  so  far  as  to  attribute  the  Tranby 
Croft  scandal  to  the  baleful  influence  of  an 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       197 

opal  necklace,  which  she  never  wore  again 
after  the  Baccarat  case  came  on. 

Speaking  of  precious  stones  reminds  me 
that  my  countrywomen  seem  to  have  made  a 
kind  of  corner  in  jewels,  just  as  my  country- 
men have  been  the  greatest  supporters  of  the 
picture  trade!  My  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Brad- 
ley Martin,  was  fortunate  enough  to  acquire 
some  wonderful  gems  at  the  sale  of  the 
French  Crown  Jewels,  and  she  now  pos- 
sesses some  lovely  pieces,  notably  a  ruby 
necklace  which  was  made  for  Marie  An- 
toinette. 

The  necklace  has  a  history,  for  the  story 
goes  that  when  the  unfortunate  Queen  first 
clasped  it  round  her  throat,  she  gave  a  shud- 
der, saying,  "Take  it  away,  I  cannot  bear 
this  band  of  blood!" 

Mrs.  Bradley  Martin  also  has  a  beautiful 
cluster  of  diamond  grapes  which  belonged  to 
Louis  XIV,  and  the  grapes  and  their  accom- 
panying pendant  were  always  sewn  on  her 
gown  whenever  she  wore  them. 


198       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

I  remember  the  pendant  was  missed  one 
night  when  she  had  dined  with  Lincoln, 
who  was  then  Minister  in  London.  There 
was  a  great  hue  and  cry  for  the  missing 
jewel,  but  it  was  never  found,  although  the 
best  detectives  were  asked  to  elucidate  the 
mystery. 

One  day  we  heard  that  Mr.  Lincoln's  but- 
ler, who  had  tried  to  commit  suicide  and 
was  dying,  wished  to  see  a  member  of  our 
family.  The  request  seemed  strange,  but  I 
regret  his  wish  was  not  complied  with  at 
once,  for  the  secret  of  my  sister-in-law's  miss- 
ing pendant  evidently  died  with  him.  "Mrs. 
Martin's  diamonds,  Mrs.  Martin's  dia- 
monds!" was  all  the  answer  he  would  give 
to  those  who  asked  him  what  so  troubled 
his  mind  in  the  hour  of  death. 

We  were  always  apprehensive  of  another 
theft,  and  I  think  that  at  one  time  we  looked 
upon  every  harmless  stranger  in  the  light  of 
a  jewel-thief.  I  remember  once,  when  my 
brother  and  his  wife  were  going  to  Balma- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       199 

caan  they  stayed  in  Edinburgh  for  the  night, 
and  Mrs.  Martin  suddenly  awoke  to  find  her 
husband  struggling  with  a  man.  She  man- 
aged to  ring  the  bell,  and  soon  the  room 
was  full  of  people  who  wondered  what  on 
earth  had  happened.  The  proprietor  ac- 
cepted the  man's  explanation  that  he  had 
mistaken  the  room,  but  my  brother  was  con- 
vinced that  it  was  a  fabrication,  and  that  the 
intruder  was  a  thief  who  had  followed  them 
from  Town. 

After  this  mysterious  adventure  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin nearly  lost  her  pearls  in  Paris.  She  was 
wearing  a  handsome  rope  of  pearls,  as  she 
sat  in  her  carriage  on  the  Boulevard,  when 
a  hand  suddenly  came  through  the  window 
and  snatched  at  them.  My  brother  did  not 
lose  his  presence  of  mind,  but  struck  up  the 
hand  of  the  thief,  who  relinquished  his  hold 
and  made  good  his  escape. 

The  possession  of  valuable  jewels  causes  a 
certain  amount  of  anxiety,  and  I  believe  the 
majority  of  Mrs.  Martin's  now  spend  most  of 


200       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

their  time  at  the  bank.  Personally  I  am  in- 
clined to  share  Mr.  Andrew  Carnegie's  opin- 
ion that  jewel-wearing  is  a  relic  of  barbarism, 
and  that  women  are  not  at  their  best  when 
they  load  themselves  with  diamonds.  But 
Andrew  Carnegie  will  never  induce  women 
to  think  that  simplicity  becomes  them  better 
than  sapphires,  or  that  a  dainty  ribbon  is 
better  than  a  riviere  of  diamonds.  I  think 
that  the  cold  glitter  of  precious  stones  liter- 
ally fascinates  some  women,  and  exercises  a 
kind  of  spell  over  them.  I  have  known  cases 
where  certain  jewels  have  become  the  mas- 
ters of  their  wearers,  and  others  where  ex- 
cessive envy  of  certain  ornaments  has  at  last 
ended  in  theft  and  disgrace.  "Dumb  jewels 
often,  in  their  silent  kind,  more  quick  than 
words,  do  move  a  woman's  mind."  Never 
were  truer  lines  written! 

But  I  fear  that  my  discourse  on  jewels  has 
made  me  forget  some  of  my  friends  in  Lon- 
don. The  late  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  then 
Louise  Duchess  of  Manchester,  was  one  of 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       201 

the  best-known  figures  in  society  when  I  first 
came  to  England;  in  fact,  her  social  power 
lasted  until  her  death. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  cared  much  for  the 
"Double  Duchess";  she  was  a  wonderful 
hostess  and  a  great  personality,  but  I  think 
she  was  too  much  dominated  by  her  love  of 
money.  I  remember  James  R.  Keene  (the 
owner  of  Foxhall)  telling  me  how  he  once 
circumvented  the  Duchess  of  Ascot  He 
chanced  to  see  her  bearing  down  in  his  di- 
rection, and  he  at  once  divined  that  she  had 
the  intention  of  asking  him  to  put  a  large 
sum  of  money  on  a  horse  for  her.  James 
knew  the  lady  of  old,  but  he  advanced  to 
meet  her  with  a  smile.  "My  dear  Duchess," 
he  said  effusively,  "I've  thought  of  you  and 
put  just  enough  on  my  horse  to  interest 
you!" 

Some  years  ago  when  the  Duchess  gave  a 
ladies'  luncheon  at  Devonshire  House,  she 
suddenly  said  to  her  guests,  "Now  I  want  to 
know  your  opinion  as  to  what  is  most  useful 


202       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

to  a  debutante.  Is  she  best  equipped  with 
beauty,  wealth,  or  brains?" 

Each  lady  present  wrote  her  opinion  on  a 
slip  of  paper,  folded  it,  and  put  it  on  a  tray 
which  was  handed  round.  When  the  Duchess 
counted  the  replies  she  found  that  "Brains" 
had  an  overwhelming  majority,  and  most 
people  will  be  inclined,  I  think,  to  agree  with 
the  verdict  of  the  ladies. 

Another  interesting  visit  was  to  Cawdor 
Castle,  when  I  drove  over  with  some  friends 
from  Balmacaan  to  see  the  Dowager  Lady 
Cawdor,  whom  I  knew  very  well.  Although 
the  castle  has  no  connection  with  the  historic 
murder  of  Duncan,  it  is  a  very  interesting  old 
place,  well  worth  seeing,  but  I  think  the  most 
beautiful  thing  about  Cawdor  is  the  garden, 
which  seems  like  a  many-coloured  banner 
lying  round  the  old  grey  walls.  Lady  Caw- 
dor was  very  deaf,  so  we  were  taken  over  the 
place  by  her  young  nephews,  who  showed 
us  where,  in  warlike  times,  melted  lead  was 
poured  over  the  assailants  of  the  castle.  There 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       203 

are  the  remains  of  a  wonderful  oak  which  is 
fenced  round  in  a  cellar,  and  tradition  states 
that  when  the  oak  disappears  the  family  will 
become  extinct 

We  duly  admired  the  wonderful  tapestries, 
but  the  boys  told  us  that  the  public  were  no 
longer  permitted  to  see  the  castle,  as  the 
excursionists  had  wrought  much  damage  by 
their  vandalistic  habit  of  scratching  names 
on  the  walls.  "We  used  sometimes  to  paint 
the  walls  ourselves,"  said  Ian  Campbell,  "for 
whenever  nervous  people  stopped  here  we 
gave  them  plenty  of  skulls  and  bats  in  phos- 
phorus paint,  and  some  were  pretty  well 
scared  out  of  their  wits  after  they  got  into 
bed." 

I  was  a  little  disappointed  to  find  that  my 
cherished  romance  of  Cawdor  was  completely 
destroyed,  but  my  hostess  told  me  that  Dun- 
can's castle  had  long  since  disappeared,  and 
that  the  site  of  it  was  unknown.  The  present 
building  only  dates  from  the  time  of  James 
IV  of  Scotland. 


204       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

As  Lady  Cawdor  was  deaf,  I  found  it 
rather  difficult  to  carry  on  a  conversation 
with  her,  although  it  was  delightful  to  hear 
her  describe  the  beauties  of  her  home.  "I 
think  your  grandchild  is  an  angel,"  I  said 
to  her  once,  as  I  admired  the  lovely  child, 
but  Lady  Cawdor  seemed  quite  put  out. 
"Oh,  Mr.  Martin,  I  don't  agree  with  you, 
fancy  you  saying  that  the  darling  is  all  an- 
gles." Naturally  I  tried  to  explain  that  I 
had  said  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  I  was 
careful  not  to  pay  any  more  compliments 
after  that. 

From  Cawdor  we  went  to  Culloden  Field, 
and  called  on  the  Mackintosh  at  Moy  Hall, 
a  lovely  stone-built  castle  on  a  loch  sur- 
rounded by  lonely  hills.  The  Mackintosh 
possesses  many  relics  of  Prince  Charlie  which 
are  religiously  preserved;  he  is  a  delightful 
host,  and  King  George,  who  often  goes  to 
Moy,  has  been  known  to  say  that  he  gets 
some  of  the  finest  shooting  there. 

Charlcote  was  another  place,  with  Shake- 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       205 

spearian  associations,  which  greatly  appealed 
to  me,  and  whenever  I  stayed  there  I  loved 
to  roam  in  the  woods  where  the  Bard  had 
acquired  a  taste  for  stolen  venison;  the  house 
is  not  large,  but  it  is  perfectly  charming, 
and  the  Avon,  which  flows  past  the  lawn, 
adds  to  the  beauty  of  the  grounds. 

These  delightful  homes  of  England  have 
always  interested  me,  and  I  could  write 
pages  on  what  I  consider  the  duties  of  their 
owners.  To  my  mind  ancestral  properties 
should  be  regarded  as  a  sacred  trust,  and  not 
entirely  as  a  source  of  income;  they  ought 
to  be  handed  down  as  much  as  possible  free 
from  debt,  although,  of  course,  they  can 
never  be  free  from  death-duties.  But  I  must 
not  moralize,  and  I  must  remember  what 
Mrs.  Stuyvesant  Fish  once  said  to  me  at 
dinner:  "Don't  you  get  bored  dining  out 
night  after  night?"  she  remarked.  "What's 
the  use  of  it?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "the  use  of  it  is  that  we 
can  get  fresh  thoughts  from  one  another." 


206       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"Perhaps,"  answered  Mrs.  Fish;  "but, 
Fred  Martin,  I'll  just  tell  you  right  away 
that  I  didn't  come  here  to  listen  to  one  of 
your  sermons." 


CHAPTER  X 

The  advent  of  the  American  woman  in  English 
society:  How  the  Invasion  came  about:  Miss  Je- 
rome becomes  Lady  Randolph  Churchill:  The 
Stevens-Paget  alliance:  The  American  heiress  in 
fiction:  An  impossible  character:  The  Girl  from 
the  Golden  West:  Then  and  now:  The  education 
of  an  heiress:  A  strenuous  life:  The  Invasion 
viewed  with  alarm  by  Society:  A  new  influence: 
The  American's  progress :  The  heiress  realizes  her 
own  value:  The  open-handed  daughters  of  Lib- 
erty: The  uses  of  advertisement:  A  good  invest- 
ment: Lady  Paget:  The  belle  of  Newport:  An 
ambitious  mother:  A  season  in  London:  The  late 
King  as  a  matchmaker:  Mr.  Paget  proposes:  He 
is  refused:  He  proposes  a  second  time:  Minnie 
Stevens  becomes  Mrs.  Paget:  A  leading  hostess: 
Lady  Paget's  personality :  Her  pluck :  Seven  opera- 
tions ! :  A  society  woman's  wish :  Helen  Beckwith : 
Her  marriage  with  the  Hon.  Dudley  Leigh: 
"Once  a  friend,  always  a  friend":  Lady  Naylor- 
Leyland:  Her  beauty:  Goethe's  Margaret:  How 
American  women  adapt  themselves  to  new  condi- 
tions: Are  they  ever  home-sick?:  Mrs.  George 
207 


208       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Keppel  recognizes  American  influence :  The  strong- 
hold of  dukedom:  Lesser  lights:  The  youngest 
American  brides:  Consuelo  Duchess  of  Manches- 
ter :  A  penniless  girl :  Her  poverty :  She  entertains 
the  late  King  at  dinner:  Where  the  dishes  came 
from:  Mrs.  Ronalds:  The  story  of  the  necklace: 
Madame  Waddington :  She  mixes  with  the  crowd : 
A  happy  answer:  The  late  Lady  Curzon:  Her 
role  at  Newport:  A  great  lady 

THE  advent  of  the  American  woman  in  Eng- 
lish Society  was  almost  unheard  of  before 
the  Civil  War,  and  this  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  up  to  that  time  American  Society  was  a 
negligible  quantity.  But  a  few  years  later  a 
change  set  in,  and  New  York  was  obliged  to 
face  the  fact  that  it  must  adopt  a  more  met- 
ropolitan tone.  From  the  shores  of  the 
Pacific,  from  the  banks  of  the  Monongahela, 
and  from  the  great  plains  of  the  West  and 
Middle  East  came  millionaires  with  their 
wives  and  children  who  were  destined  to 
change  the  old  order  into  something  entirely 
new.  The  lines  of  hide-bound  convention 
were  speedily  broken  down,  new  blood  was 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       209 

infused  into  feeble  stock,  and  as  a  result 
Venus  Victrix,  dowered  with  loveliness  and 
dollars,  set  forth  to  conquer  England. 

The  great  Invasion  began  a  generation  ago, 
when  Miss  Jerome,  of  New  York,  married 
Lord  Randolph  Churchill,  a  wedding  which 
may  be  said  to  have  set  the  fashion  for  simi- 
lar alliances.  Miss  Minnie  Stevens  became 
the  wife  of  Lord  Alfred  Paget's  son,  Miss 
Beckwith  married  the  eldest  son  of  Lord 
Leigh,  the  beautiful  Miss  Mary  Leiter  be- 
came Lady  Curzon,  and  Mr.  Joseph  Cham- 
berlain took  Miss  Endicott  of  Boston  for  his 
second  wife. 

The  American  heiress  has,  until  recently, 
been  regarded  as  a  source  of  humour  by 
novelists  and  playwrights.  We  are  all  fa- 
miliar with  the  heroine  of  the  "Fuchsia 
Leach"  type  and  the  impossible  parents  who 
follow  in  their  daughter's  triumphal  prog- 
ress; we  know  her  twang  and  solecisms  of 
old,  and  we  have  sympathized  with  the  noble 
families  upon  whose  corns  she  has  so  ruth- 


210       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

lessly  trodden  in  her  social  ascent.  But  has 
this  ever  been  a  true  picture?  There  may 
have  been  some  justification  for  the  character- 
drawing  in  the  past,  but  the  raw  material  is 
non-existent  now  in  families  who  aspire  to 
social  greatness,  and  England  only  sees  the 
finished  product.  The  girl  from  the  golden 
West  who  came  straight  to  Mayfair,  with  a 
few  cowboy  admirers  lurking  in  the  back- 
ground, and  shocked  her  aristocratic  chaperon 
at  every  turn,  is  now  looked  upon  as  pre- 
historic or  as  extinct  as  the  Dodo. 

An  American  girl's  debut  is  almost  pre- 
ordained, for  her  destiny  has  been  arranged 
for  her,  and  her  education  commences  from 
the  day  of  her  birth.  I  sometimes  pity  the  girl 
who  is  subjected  to  the  endless  routine  which 
is  supposed  to  fit  her  for  a  position  in  Ameri- 
can Society,  or  to  qualify  her  for  the  British 
peerage.  There  are  daily  lessons  in  riding, 
driving,  all  kinds  of  physical  culture,  and 
from  morning  until  evening  she  learns  afresh 
something  physically  or  mentally.  It  is  a 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       211 

strenuous  life,  not  unlike  a  royal  education, 
and  only  the  pupil's  natural  vivacity  prevents 
her  from  becoming  artificial. 

This  training  has  done  much  to  remove 
the  distrust  which  the  advent  of  young 
America  formerly  created  in  England.  The 
older  circles  then  looked  askance  upon  the 
forceful  elements  in  their  midst,  and  the 
conservative  temperament  which  dislikes  any 
innovation  fought  hard  against  the  new- 
comers. But  this  did  not  last  long,  for 
nothing  could  have  successfully  withstood 
these  charming  invaders,  whose  luxury  and 
extravagance  were  almost  bewildering.  The 
new  influence  made  itself  felt  at  once,  and 
now  after  a  generation  it  has  become  a 
power. 

The  American  woman  starts  her  social 
progress  unhampered  by  caste  and  tradition. 
She  takes  people  as  she  finds  them — not  on 
the  valuation  of  their  ancestors;  she  is  a  per- 
son of  spirit,  she  has  her  own  ideas,  and  she 
is  worldly  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  She 


212       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

realizes  her  own  value;  she  knows  what  she 
wants  in  exchange  for  it,  and  she  makes  up 
her  mind  that  once  she  has  obtained  her  am- 
bition she  will  play  her  part  to  perfection. 
The  heiress  makes  no  secret  of  her  admiration 
for  a  title;  she  knows  that  her  money  will 
work  wonders,  and  often  some  neglected 
stately  home  has  looked  in  pride  again  under 
her  benign  influence. 

These  daughters  of  Liberty  are  generous. 
They  spend  their  money  lavishly,  but  they 
spend  it  with  discrimination,  and,  if  their 
manner  of  doing  so  is  occasionally  a  little 
blatant,  surely,  as  the  saying  has  it,  much  can 
be  forgiven  those  who  give  much.  They  be- 
lieve in  the  value  of  advertisement,  they  like 
to  see  society  paragraphs  about  their  jewels 
and  their  gowns;  and  they  love  to  know  that 
all  the  world,  at  the  expenditure  of  a  penny, 
may  read  about  their  vast  improvements  on 
their  husband's  estates.  To  them  it  repre- 
sents business,  not  snobbishness,  and  they  re- 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       213 

gard  a  position  in  the  peerage  much  as  other 
people  look  upon  an  investment,  for  in  both 
cases  the  idea  is  that  they  will  become  pay- 
ing concerns. 

I  think  that  Lady  Paget  represents  the  best 
Anglo-American  type.  I  remember  her  well 
when,  as  Minnie  Stevens,  she  was  the  Belle  of 
Newport.  All  the  handsomest  men  adored 
her,  and  Fred  May,  from  Baltimore,  seemed 
to  be  the  favoured  suitor  until  her  worldly 
mother  intimated  to  him  that  she  had  other 
views  for  her  daughter. 

Following  Newport  came  a  season  in  New 
York,  and  afterwards  Mrs.  Stevens  carried 
Minnie  off  to  London.  The  late  King,  who 
was  then  Prince  of  Wales,  wished  to  arrange 
a  match  between  her  and  Arthur  Paget,  but 
when  Arthur  first  proposed  Miss  Stevens  re- 
fused him.  After  that  they  met  constantly  in 
society,  and  then  Mr.  Paget  determined  to  try 
again. 

"When  I  first  asked  you  to  marry  me,"  he 


214       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

is  reported  to  have  said,  "my  proposal  came 
from  my  head.  Now  it  comes  from  my 
heart." 

Minnie  Stevens  was  married  from  Thomas's 
Hotel,  and  she  at  once  took  her  place  as  a 
leading  hostess.  Her  house  at  3  Halkin 
Street  became  known  as  one  of  the  smartest 
houses  in  Town,  and  the  late  King  was  a  con- 
stant visitor  there.  I  think  Lady  Paget  (as 
she  is  now)  possesses  a  most  beautiful  dis- 
position, and  she  certainly  showed  almost  su- 
perhuman fortitude  during  her  long  illness 
when  she  had  seven  operations.  I  remember 
once  going  to  see  her  after  her  accident,  and 
found  her  reading  a  number  of  letters  of 
condolence  which  had  just  arrived.  Some  of 
them  were  from  crowned  heads,  but  Lady 
Paget  seemed  especially  charmed  with  the 
contents  of  a  dirty  little  note  she  had  just 
opened.  "Oh,  Fred,"  said  she,  "this  letter  has 
given  me  such  pleasure.  It  is  from  my  wash- 
erwoman, and  I  don't  think  anything  has 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       215 

delighted  me  more  than  that  she  should  have 
thought  of  me." 

Miss  Helen  Beckwith  was  a  fair  American 
who  married  the  Hon.  Dudley  Leigh,  and 
became  the  chatelaine  of  Stoneleigh  Abbey. 
Her  father  was  appointed  Commissioner  of 
the  Paris  Exhibiton,  and  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  made  much  of  the  beautiful  girl  and 
her  sisters,  who  returned  to  America  loaded 
with  Imperial  souvenirs. 

After  her  mother's  death  Helen  received 
countless  offers  of  marriage,  but  Mr.  Beck- 
with would  not  allow  her  to  accept  any  of 
them.  "I've  never  met  the  man  who  is  good 
enough  for  her,"  said  he.  Miss  Beckwith 
afterwards  went  abroad  with  my  brother 
Bradley  and  his  wife,  and  during  a  visit  to 
Balmacaan  she  met  her  future  husband. 

I  often  stayed  at  Stoneleigh  Abbey  with 
the  Leighs.  I  remember  that  the  room  there 
once  occupied  by  Queen  Victoria  and  the 
Prince  Consort  was  kept  unaltered,  and  that 


216       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

there  was  also  an  interesting  portrait  of  a  lady 
who  arrived  to  spend  the  afternoon  and 
stayed  for  forty  years.  Helen  Leigh  died, 
greatly  mourned,  after  a  few  days'  illness; 
she  possessed  a  splendidly  loyal  nature,  and, 
indeed,  her  motto  was,  "Once  a  friend,  always 
a  friend." 

Lady  Naylor-Leyland's  marriage  was  an- 
other triumph  for  feminine  America.  I  first 
met  Miss  Chamberlain  (as  she  was  then)  at 
a  dinner  given  by  Mrs.  Isaac  Bell  one  Sunday 
evening. 

"Don't  disappoint  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bell,  "for 
I've  the  loveliest  young  girl  coming  that 
you've  ever  seen,"  and  I  remember  that  when 
the  butler  announced  "Miss  Chamberlain" 
I  saw  my  ideal  of  Goethe's  "Margaret." 
Rarely,  if  ever,  had  I  seen  such  a  picture  of 
virginal  sweetness  as  she  presented,  and  her 
appearance  did  not  belie  her,  for  Jeanie 
Chamberlain  was  charming  and  quite  un- 
spoilt by  the  world. 

After  her  debut,  Mrs.  Chamberlain  took 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       217 

her  daughter  to  England,  and  presented  her- 
self with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Lady 
Paget,  who  at  once  arranged  a  dinner  to  meet 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  After  her  marriage  to 
Sir  Herbert  Naylor-Leyland,  Jeanie  became 
a  great  hostess;  the  late  King  Edward  hon- 
oured her  with  his  friendship  until  the  time 
of  his  death;  and  there  are  few  people  in 
Society  who  possess  the  tact  and  common- 
sense  of  Lady  Naylor-Leyland. 

It  is  certainly  remarkable  how  American 
women  adapt  themselves  to  the  conditions  of 
a  new  life  in  a  new  country.  If  some  of  them 
regret  New  York  they  are  wise  enough  not 
to  show  home-sickness  in  the  land  of  their 
adoption,  but  there  are  some  ladies  who  seem 
to  forget  their  nationality,  notably  Lady 
Arthur  Butler,  who  has  never  revisited  Amer- 
ica since  her  marriage. 

Mrs.  George  Keppel  has  always  recognized 
the  influence  of  American  women  on  English 
Society;  she  has  very  wisely  taken  the  fullest 
advantage  of  it,  and  at  her  entertainments  one 


218       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

meets  the  best  type  of  Americans.  Mrs.  Hwfa 
Williams  was  another  hostess  who  welcomed 
the  invasion,  and  felt  the  magnetic  power  and 
freshness  wielded  by  the  new  regime. 

Even  the  stronghold  of  dukedom  has  yield- 
ed to  the  besieging  force!  A  Vanderbilt 
heiress  captured  the  historic  house  of  Marl- 
borough,  Miss  May  Goelet  carried  her  wealth 
and  herself  north  of  the  Tweed  as  Duchess 
of  Roxburgh,  and  there  have  been  two  Amer- 
ican Duchesses  of  Manchester.  As  for  other 
aristocratic  victories,  the  names  now  fill  a 
long  list.  My  niece  Cornelia  was  only  six- 
teen when  she  married  the  Earl  of  Craven, 
and  I  think  that  she  and  Miss  Vanderbilt 
must  have  been  the  youngest  American  girls 
to  marry  into  the  peerage. 

And  how  do  these  women  influence  Soci- 
ety? They  influence  the  social  world  for 
many  reasons:  they  are  past-mistresses  of  the 
art  of  entertaining;  they  are  tactful,  adaptive, 
broad-minded,  and  they  know  to  a  fraction 
the  value  of  money.  They  take  no  chances, 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       219 

their  plan  of  campaign  is  always  swift  and 
effective,  and  they  comprise  in  themselves  the 
essence  of  the  spirit  of  modernity. 

Just  as  marriage  with  favourites  of  the 
stage  often  infuses  healthy  plebeian  blood  into 
some  deteriorated  aristocratic  stock,  so  mar- 
riage with  American  women  infuses  vitality, 
personality,  beauty  and  money  into  the  peer- 
age, although  money  is  not  always  the  factor 
in  the  case. 

The  late  Duchess  of  Manchester,  Consuelo, 
of  immortal  memory,  was  a  penniless  girl 
when  she  married  the  Duke,  but  wherever  she 
went  she  attracted  rich  and  poor  alike,  solely 
through  her  fascinating  personality.  She  was 
a  charming  woman,  and  I  remember  how  she 
used  to  laugh  over  incidents  in  her  early  mar- 
ried life  when  she  was  excessively  hard  up. 
Consuelo  told  me  that  on  one  occasion  when 
the  late  King  dined  with  her,  the  dinner  was 
practically  provided  by  her  friends,  who  con- 
tributed plats  for  the  occasion.  H.R.H.  ex- 
pressed himself  as  delighted  with  the  dinner. 


220       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"And  what  is  more,"  he  added,  with  a  smile, 
"I  know  exactly  where  all  the  dishes  come 
from,  for  each  lady  has  sent  the  one  I  always 
like  served  when  I  dine  at  her  house." 

Consuelo  was  a  wonderful  raconteuse,  and 
the  present  Duke  of  Manchester  inherits  his 
mother's  gift,  for  I  think  I  have  never  heard 
any  one  tell  stories,  especially  negro  ones, 
better  than  he  does.  His  wife  is  an  exceed- 
ingly nice  woman,  and  the  informal  dances 
at  her  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  always  pos- 
sess the  merit  of  originality. 

Mrs.  Ronalds  may  be  said  to  have  con- 
quered English  Society  alone  and  unaided. 
She  has  always  gathered  together  the  best 
people  in  the  social  world,  and  I  can  never 
forget  her  kindness  to  me  in  my  younger  days. 
I  first  met  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  at  her  house, 
and  once  remarked  to  him,  "It  must  be  a  great 
comfort  to  see  your  works  appreciated  in  your 
life-time?"  "It  is,"  replied  Sir  Arthur,  "for 
I  have  lived  long  enough  to  see  that  certain 
people  may  have  stones  flung  at  them  when 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       221 

they  are  alive,  and  stones  put  up  for  them 
after  they  are  dead." 

Mrs.  Ronalds  had  a  most  beautiful  voice, 
and  the  story  goes  that  once  her  singing  so 
moved  a  lady  from  the  States  that  she  left 
her  seat  and  clasped  her  valuable  necklace 
round  the  singer's  throat,  exclaiming,  as  she 
did  so,  "Pray,  pray  accept  this  as  a  tribute  to 
your  divine  voice!" 

But  with  the  morning  came  cold  reflection, 
and  the  power  of  song,  so  potent  on  the  pre- 
ceding night,  no  longer  held  the  impulsive 
donor  in  thrall.  Sad  to  relate,  she  regretted 
her  gift,  and  at  last  she  decided  to  go  round 
and  see  Mrs.  Ronalds.  The  lady  wasted  no 
time  in  beating  about  the  bush.  "My  dear," 
she  said,  "I'm  sorry,  but  I  made  a  mistake  in 
giving  you  that  necklace.  Will  you  return  it, 
and  accept  the  excuse  that  I  was  carried  away 
by  your  exquisite  singing?" 

"What  a  pity,"  answered  Mrs.  Ronalds, 
"for  the  necklace  has  been  carried  away,  too. 
It's  now  in  my  safe  at  the  bank." 


222       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  cannot  bring  my  recollections  of  Anglo- 
American  hostesses  to  a  close  without  men- 
tioning Madame  Waddington,  who  before 
her  marriage  was  Miss  King  of  New  York. 
She  is  a  most  remarkable  woman,  and  her 
husband  represented  France  for  twelve  years 
at  the  Court  of  St.  James'.  Madame  Wad- 
dington knows  the  secret  of  popularity,  and 
she  is  always  ready  to  try  a  new  experience. 
I  remember  once,  when  the  German  Emperor 
visited  England,  that  she  was  very  anxious  to 
learn  the  opinion  of  the  man  in  the  street,  and 
to  see  whether  the  cheers  of  the  people  were 
genuine  or  not.  She  accordingly  stood  in  the 
crowd  to  watch  the  procession  pass,  and  nat- 
urally imagined  that  she  would  be  unnoticed. 

At  dinner  that  night  the  Emperor  turned  to 
her,  "Oh,  Madame  Waddington,"  he  said.  "I 
saw  you  in  the  crowd  to-day." 

"Did  you,  your  Majesty,"  she  replied,  no 
whit  taken  aback;  "I  was  there  because  I 
wanted  to  share  the  people's  appreciation  of 
you." 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       223 

The  arrows  of  age  have  missed  Madame 
Waddington,  who  still  retains  all  her  delight- 
ful personality.  Like  Mrs.  Griswold  Gray, 
she  refuses  to  allow  herself  to  become  old,  and 
she  always  says  that  the  best  recipe  for 
youth  is  to  keep  oneself  in  touch  with  the 
times. 

I  always  think  of  the  passing  of  Lady 
Curzon  with  deep  regret.  I  knew  her  first  as 
Miss  Mary  Leiter,  when  all  the  doors  of 
Newport  were  opened  to  her  by  reason  of  her 
sweet  personality,  and  I  thought  her  role  of 
the  modest,  graceful  girl  carried  her  far.  The 
Leiters  in  those  days  had  money,  but  no  in- 
fluence, and  their  social  success  later  was 
chiefly  owing  to  Mary.  She  never  forgot  her 
family,  for  she  did  everything  to  further  their 
interests,  and  she  was  mainly  responsible 
for  her  sister  Daisy's  marriage  with  Lord 
Suffolk. 

When  I  heard  of  her  wonderful  success  in 
India,  and  read  accounts  of  the  pomp  and 
ceremonial  with  which,  as  Vicereine,  she  was 


224       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

surrounded,  I  felt  proud  to  think  that  Lady 
Curzon  came  from  my  country.  She  was  a 
charming  woman,  and,  better  still,  a  good 
one.  The  breath  of  scandal  never  sullied  her 
fair  name;  she  had  no  enemies  and  possessed 
countless  friends.  She  was  a  good  daughter, 
a  good  wife,  and  a  devoted  mother.  Such 
was  Mary  Curzon,  one  of  those  noble  women, 
who,  while  they  adorn  this  world,  make  us 
think  that  the  angels  are  not  all  in  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  XI 

William  Gillett:  The  Bachelors'  Club:  The 
Clearing  House  System:  Merit  is  passed  over: 
Mr.  Gillett's  radium  parties:  Charles  Dalison:  A 
beau  of  the  seventies:  The  end  of  a  worldly  life: 
The  Whitelaw  Reids:  A  hospitable  ambassador: 
Mr.  Choate:  His  wit:  "Just  start  cackling, 
madam":  The  late  Bradley  Martin  and  his  con- 
nection with  Balmacaan:  My  brother  rents  Lake- 
field:  The  ghost  there:  Bradley  takes  over  Bal- 
macaan from  Henry  Allsop:  A  beautiful  home: 
The  shores  of  Loch  Ness :  Our  love  for  Scotland : 
The  joy  of  life:  Another  ghost:  The  spectral 
coach:  Lord  Lovat's  funeral:  Unlimited  whisky: 
A  two-mile  walk:  Lady  Burton  and  the  late  King: 
"One  thing  needful":  Edward  VII  decorates  Lord 
Brougham's  butler:  Our  theatrical  and  literary 
neighbours :  Sir  Henry  Irving :  The  Terrys :  Mrs. 
Lewis  lets  her  cottage  to  Barrie:  Sir  James  and 
the  donkey:  His  love  of  children:  His  retiring 
disposition:  Memories  of  Bradley:  The  best  of 
brothers:  Speaking  in  public:  I  go  down  to  the 
East  End :  An  audience  at  Whitechapel 
225 


226       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

MR.  WILLIAM  GILLETT  has  been  one  of  the 
best-known  figures  in  London  Society  for 
many  years,  and  he  will  possess  an  enduring 
monument  in  the  Bachelors'  Club,  which  he 
founded  in  conjunction  with  the  late  Duke  of 
Albany  and  Augustus  Lumley. 

He  has  not  always  led  the  existence  which 
is  his  to-day.  William  Gillett  possesses  re- 
markable business  capacity,  and  the  Clearing 
House  System  first  originated  in  his  active 
mind.  I  think  my  friend  expected  to  be 
created  a  baronet  in  connection  with  this,  but, 
as  is  often  the  case,  his  merit  was  passed  over 
and  some  one  less  worthy  received  the  honour. 
However,  he  can  console  himself  by  reflecting 
that  in  these  days  of  strange  peerages,  baro- 
netcies and  knighthoods  it  is  perhaps  better 
to  go  to  one's  grave  as  a  distinguished  com- 
moner. 

I  do  not  think  any  one  in  the  social  world 
has  ever  led  such  a  crowded  life  as  William 
Gillett.  He  attends  all  the  smartest  wed- 
dings; he  is  seen  at  charitable  functions, 


Mr.  William  Gillett  (on  left),  Mrs.  Bradley  Martin  and  Count  Kergorley 
(in  carriage),  at  Balmacaan 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       227 

where  he  lavishly  helps  whatever  may  be  the 
cause;  he  stays  at  the  best  country  houses,  and 
even  at  his  age  he  manages  to  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance at  four  dances  a  night.  I  once  asked 
him  the  reason  why  he  put  himself  in  the  way 
of  being  so  fatigued,  and  received  the  char- 
acteristic reply,  "I  go  to  dances  because  I  love 
them." 

I  remember  saying  to  him  during  a  quiet 
hour  at  Balmacaan,  my  brother  Bradley's 
place  near  Inverness,  "Gillett,  what  do  you 
think  of  Death?"  He  looked  at  me  for  an 
instant  without  speaking  and  then  answered 
in  his  curiously  slow  way,  "What  do  I  think 
of  Death?  Well,  Martin,  I  think  of  it  as  a 
long,  peaceful  sleep.  I  have  always  tried 
never  to  do  any  one  harm,  I've  endeavoured 
to  spend  my  money  with  justice,  and  I  think 
I've  earned  my  rest." 

I  was  much  impressed  by  his  words,  for 
they  revealed  the  speaker  in  a  new  light.  I 
used  to  think  that  Gillett  shared  Mrs.  Ayers' 
horror  of  death,  and  I  was  interested  to  learn 


228       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

that  one  who  seemed  so  much  in  love  with 
life  looked  forward  to  the  grave  as  a  well- 
earned  rest. 

Certain  facetious  people  have  made  fun  of 
William  Gillett's  radium  parties,  and  sneered 
at  his  Excelsior  reunions ;  others  have  laughed 
about  the  fact  that  most  of  his  fair  friends 
have  a  title,  and  suggested  that  his  paradise 
will  be  one  of  "Peri"esses,  but  my  friend 
treats  all  such  attacks  with  good-natured  in- 
difference; in  fact,  I  think  he  is  secretly 
amused  at  the  comments.  But  there  are  those 
who,  like  myself,  respect  the  real  William 
Gillett,  and  I  must  place  on  record  that  he 
never  lets  his  left  hand  know  what  his  right 
hand  gives.  His  heart  is  the  real  right  thing, 
and  he  is  a  generous  giver  in  the  cause  of 
charity. 

I  remember  another  Society  man  who  re- 
sembled Mr.  Gillett  in  many  ways.  This 
was  Charles  Dalison,  who  was  a  great  social 
light  in  the  'seventies  and  'eighties.  He  was 
invited  everywhere,  and  always  used  to  spend 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       229 

six  weeks  in  Scotland  with  Lord  and  Lady 
Burton.  But  as  old  age  approached  Mr. 
Dalison's  invitations  began  to  decline,  and, 
as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  have  every  day 
booked  up  for  weeks  ahead,  he  felt  his  altered 
positon  very  keenly. 

Mr.  Dalison  lived  just  off  Sloane  Square, 
and  one  evening,  in  the  height  of  the  Season, 
he  realized  the  dreadful  fact  that  he  had  not 
been  asked  anywhere.  This  was  a  severe  blow 
to  one  who  looked  upon  Society  as  the  breath 
of  his  nostrils,  and  the  old  man,  who  was  too 
proud  to  go  and  sit  in  his  Club,  wandered  into 
the  park,  where  he  sat  alone  in  the  moon- 
light. From  his  chair  he  could  hear  the 
carriages  as  they  passed  and  repassed,  taking 
people  to  dinners  and  balls,  for  at  this  hour 
London  was  in  her  most  seductive  mood.  He 
could  almost  smell  the  roses  on  the  staircases, 
and  hear  the  soft  strains  of  music  in  the 
ballrooms;  he  fancied  he  saw  the  beautiful 
wearers  of  beautiful  jewels,  and  the  cold  eyes 
of  the  stars  seemed  to  mock  at  his  misery. 


230       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Poor  forgotten  old  man!  At  last  kindly 
sleep  closed  his  eyes,  and  perhaps  he  dreamt 
happily.  But  slumber  brought  him  a  true 
friend,  for  Death  had  followed  her,  and  when 
the  sleeper  woke  his  night's  vigil  resulted  in 
an  attack  of  pneumonia,  which  carried  him 
off  in  a  few  days.  What  a  subject  for  a 
master  of  irony,  and  what  a  lesson  it 
conveys ! 

Whenever  I  write  on  the  subject  of  hos- 
pitality I  am  often  reminded  that  we  Ameri- 
cans owe  a  tremendous  debt  of  gratitude  to 
the  Whitelaw  Reids  for  their  entertainments 
at  Dorchester  House.  The  late  Ambassador 
was  an  ideal  representative  of  the  New 
World,  and  his  wife  and  daughter  seconded 
him  with  wonderful  success. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  magnificent  ball 
given  at  Dorchester  House,  at  the  time  of  the 
late  King's  Coronation,  which  was  attended 
by  all  the  members  of  the  royal  family.  It 
was  a  splendid  sight,  but  what  most  appealed 
to  me  was  the  strong  sympathy  which  seemed 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       231 

to  exist  between  America  and  the  Mother 
Country. 

I  think  that  Mr.  Choate  was  one  of  our 
ablest  ambassadors;  every  one  liked  him  and 
his  dry  humour,  and  I  always  remember  his 
reply  to  an  affected,  talkative  woman  at  a 
country  house.  The  fair  lady  was  passing 
him  an  egg,  when  suddenly  she  let  it  fall. 
"Oh  dear,  dear  Mr.  Choate,  I've  dropped  an 
egg;  whatever  shall  I  do?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Do?"  replied  Choate,  with  an  impassive 
expression,  "why  just  start  cackling,  madam." 

I  believe  that  the  name  of  my  dear  brother 
Bradley  is  very  much  associated  with  Bal- 
macaan,  where  he  spent  so  many  happy  years! 
Now,  alas!  that  he  is  gone,  the  place  possesses 
sorrowful  memories  for  us,  and  it  will  never 
seem  the  same  to  me. 

In  February,  1881,  Mrs.  Bradley  Martin's 
father  died,  and  she  came  to  England  with 
her  mother  and  her  husband.  For  some  time 
they  stayed  quietly  at  Claridge's,  and  then  left 
for  Scotland.  One  day  at  Inverness  my 


brother  went  into  a  gunmaker's  shop,  and 
asked  the  man  if  he  knew  where  a  little  good 
shooting  could  be  obtained.  "Why,  sir,"  said 
the  man,  "Lord  Seafield  has  just  died,  and  I 
believe  that  the  shooting  over  the  Balmacaan 
estate  is  to  let,  and  that  you  can  put  up  at 
the  inn  at  Glen  Urquhart." 

Bradley  at  once  interviewed  the  agent,  with 
the  result  that  he  took  up  his  quarters  at  the 
inn  with  his  wife  and  her  mother,  and  had  a 
very  good  time,  as  there  was  nothing  he  liked 
better  than  shooting.  The  keen,  cold  air  suit- 
ed Mrs.  Martin,  and  when  they  returned  to 
America  Bradley  decided  to  make  an  offer 
for  Balmacaan  the  next  year.  Unfortunately 
for  my  brother,  Henry  Allsop  had  secured  a 
three  years'  lease  of  the  shooting;  he  had, 
therefore,  to  content  himself  with  renting 
Lakefield,  which  is  close  to  Balmacaan,  but 
Sir  Henry  Allsop  very  kindly  allowed 
Bradley  to  have  the  grouse  moors. 

I  was  then  preparing  to  start  with  Harry 
Sands  for  a  trip  round  the  world,  but  I 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       233 

changed  my  mind,  and  went  up  to  Scotland 
with  my  brother  and  his  family.  Lakefield 
is  a  quaint  old  house,  and,  as  its  name  implies, 
it  is  situated  close  to  a  lake.  The  last  owner 
had  died  in  tragic  circumstances,  and  if 
houses  are  ever  haunted  Lakefield  certainly 
was.  We  used  to  hear  most  weird  noises 
when  all  was  quiet  at  night;  heavy  footsteps 
passed  along  the  corridors  and  often  we  heard 
the  sound  of  a  body  being  dragged  down  the 
staircase.  Luckily  for  us  the  ghost  remained 
invisible,  although  it  certainly  made  its  pres- 
ence felt,  but  at  last  we  came  to  regard  the 
noises  with  absolute  equanimity. 

We  returned  to  America  that  autumn,  and 
later  Henry  Allsop  offered  the  lease  of  Bal- 
macaan  to  my  brother,  who  was  overjoyed  to 
secure  it,  for  he  was  never  so  happy  as  when 
in  the  Highlands. 

Balmacaan  is  a  large  ivy-covered  stone 
house  built  in  front  of  the  original  shooting- 
box.  The  surroundings  are  beautiful;  the 
estate  extends  for  nineteen  miles  along  Loch 


234       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Ness;  it  has  for  a  background  the  solemn  hills 
with  extensive  deer  forests  and  wild  moor- 
land, where  you  can  get  an  uninterrupted 
view  for  twelve  miles  straight  across  to 
Beaufort  Castle. 

How  we  have  always  loved  Scotland!  I 
think  there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  as  the 
lonely  places  where  the  silence  is  unbroken 
save  for  the  occasional  whirr  of  wings  and 
the  hoarse  cry  of  the  grouse.  In  summer  the 
clear  air  quivers  with  the  heat;  the  heather 
wraps  the  moors  in  purple,  and  on  all  sides 
one  hears  the  melody  of  falling  water.  Does 
any  repast  ever  seem  so  good  as  when  taken 
amid  such  surroundings?  And  does  not  life 
seem  a  better  thing  than  it  does  in  the  allur- 
ing town? 

Balmacaan,  like  Lakefield,  has  its  invisible 
ghost,  and  a  restless  Lady  Seafield  is  said  to 
drive  about  in  her  spectral  coach.  Every  one 
who  has  stopped  at  the  house  has  heard  the 
horses  pull  up  at  the  door,  and  although 
many  explanations  have  been  proffered  as  to 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       235 

the  real  cause,  the  mystery  has  never  been 
satisfactorily  solved. 

I  remember  that  I  saw  my  first  Scotch 
funeral  when  I  was  staying  at  Balmacaan, 
and  it  was  a  very  impressive  ceremony. 

Mr.  W.  K.  Vanderbilt  had  rented  Beaufort 
Castle,  but  when  the  news  came  that  Lord 
Lovat,  the  owner,  was  dead,  Mr.  Vanderbilt 
at  once  placed  the  castle  at  the  temporary 
disposal  of  the  family. 

My  brother,  his  son,  Howard  and  myself 
were  asked  to  the  funeral,  and  when  we  ar- 
rived at  Beaufort  we  found  that  Lord  Lovat's 
coffin  had  been  put  in  the  outer  hall.  It  was 
covered  with  the  late  peer's  robes;  his  coro- 
net was  upon  it,  and  at  the  head  of  the  coffin 
stood  the  present  Lord  Lovat,  who  was  then 
a  boy  of  fourteen. 

The  mourners  assembled  in  the  great  hall, 
a  wonderful  room,  full  of  family  portraits, 
armour  and  trophies  of  the  chase;  here  we 
had  luncheon,  and  I  remember  there  seemed 
to  be  an  unlimited  supply  of  whisky  and 


236       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

spiced  wine.  After  the  meal  was  over  we 
started  to  walk  the  two  miles  to  the  tiny 
Roman  Catholic  Church  where  the  committal 
service  took  place.  It  was  a  fine,  cold  day, 
and  as  we  passed  along  the  pipers'  lament 
fell  on  the  air  with  its  melancholy  wail.  The 
church  was  crammed  to  suffocation,  and  the 
Dowager  Lady  Lovat  sat  hidden  from  view 
in  the  choir  loft. 

We  have  made  many  friendships  during 
the  years  we  have  spent  in  Scotland,  and  the 
Lovats,  Frazers  and  Macintoshes  always  come 
to  the  covert  shoots  at  Balmacaan.  Lady 
Burton  is  another  charming  neighbour,  and 
she  once  told  me  an  amusing  incident  which 
occurred  when  the  late  King  Edward  stayed 
at  Glenquoich.  "I  hope,  Sir,  that  you  have 
found  everything  to  your  liking?"  she  said  to 
the  royal  visitor.  "Yes,"  answered  the  King; 
"but,  if  I  may  make  a  suggestion,  one  little 
thing  would  add  greatly  to  the  comfort  of 
your  guests." 

"Oh,  Sir  ...  what  can  it  be?" 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       237 

"Well,  Lady  Burton,"  said  H.M.,  "the  one 
thing  needful  is  a  hook  on  the  bath-room 
door." 

How  charming  King  Edward  was!  Lord 
Brougham  once  told  me  how  the  late  sov- 
ereign decorated  his  butler,  an  old  man  who 
had  been  with  the  family  for  many  years.  He 
was  a  valued  and  privileged  servant,  and 
some  one  had  evidently  mentioned  this  to 
H.M.,  for  just  before  he  was  leaving  the 
King  took  out  a  decoration  and  pinned  it  on 
the  lapel  of  the  butler's  coat,  complimenting 
him  as  he  did  so  on  the  length  of  his  service. 
Another  "trivial"  incident  perhaps,  but  I 
think  it  is  worth  recording. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  that  we  have 
had  distinguished  members  of  the  theatrical 
and  literary  world  for  neighbours.  Lady  Sea- 
field  had  given  a  cottage  on  the  estate  to  Mr. 
Lewis,  the  husband  of  Kate  Terry,  and  one 
year  Sir  Henry  Irving  came  to  stop  there. 
Irving  dined  at  Balmacaan,  and  I  also  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Ellen  Terry  and  her 


238       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

sisters  Marion  and  Kate.  After  Mrs.  Lewis 
gave  up  the  cottage,  Sir  James  Barrie  took 
it,  and  we  often  used  to  meet  the  famous 
novelist,  pipe  in  mouth,  leading  a  donkey, 
which  was  usually  ridden  by  one  of  the  many 
children  staying  at  his  house. 

I  believe  that  What  Every  Woman  Knows 
was  written  about  this  time.  Our  neighbour 
was  always  willing  to  assist  at  the  entertain- 
ments we  got  up  for  the  tenants,  but  he  could 
never  be  induced  to  lunch  or  dine  with  us. 

The  happiest  moment  in  my  life  at  Bal- 
macaan  was  one  night  last  autumn  when  my 
brother,  in  addressing  a  meeting,  gave  his 
whole-hearted  support  to  my  proposals.  His 
warm  words  of  appreciation  filled  my  heart 
to  overflowing,  and  as  we  walked  home  I  said 
to  him,  "This  evening  has  been  a  happy  one 
for  me,  as  I  know  that  you  are  now  in  sym- 
pathy with  my  public  schemes."  Perhaps  I 
should  not  chronicle  this  seemingly  small  in- 
cident, but  Bradley  was  the  best  of  brothers, 
and  his  appreciation  was  a  great  thing  to  me. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       239 

This  mention  of  speaking  in  public  reminds 
me  of  the  occasion  when  I  went  down  to 
Whitechapel  to  address  a  big  meeting  of  the 
unemployed.  It  was  nervous  work,  and  I 
felt  at  once  that  the  audience  resented  the 
presence  of  my  secretary,  who  was  on  the 
platform. 

"Mr.  Parsons,"  I  whispered,  "I  think  you'd 
better  leave  me,  for  I  know  I  must  be  one 
with  them."  I  waited  until  I  heard  my  car 
drive  away,  and  then  looked  at  the  cold,  hard 
faces  before  me,  each  of  which  seemed  to  ask, 
"Why  have  you  come  down  here?"  The 
Chairman  then  introduced  me  as  an  Ameri- 
can who  wanted  to  talk  to  them,  and  I  rose, 
feeling  very  uncertain  about  my  reception. 

I  told  the  men  that  the  Land  over  the  Sea 
called  for  workers.  "Don't  go  to  the  hearts 
of  the  cities,"  I  said,  "let  mother  earth  take 
you  in  her  keeping,  you'll  be  safer  there  than 
in  a  wilderness  of  bricks  and  mortar."  I 
spoke  for  an  hour,  and  I  wondered  whether 


240       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  had  made  any  impression  on  the  starving, 
sullen  crowd. 

"Does  yer  object  to  be  questioned,  guv'- 
nor?"  cried  a  voice. 

"Certainly  not,"  I  answered,  "provided  I'm 
not  asked  to  discuss  politics." 

I  waited  a  few  seconds,  and  then  a  man  got 
up.  He  was  a  sallow  individual  of  thirty, 
and  Socialist  was  written  upon  every  feature. 
"Mr.  Martin,"  he  began,  "I'll  just  tell  you 
I'm  chairman  of  a  club  down  here,  and  I 
came  to  upset  you  if  I  could.  Now  I'll  own 
up  that  my  idea  of  you  was  wrong.  You're 
all  right." 

The  candid  speaker  then  sat  down  amid 
applause,  and  others  got  up  and  questioned 
me  about  the  possibilities  of  America  until  I 
felt  like  a  live  emigration  office.  When  I 
quitted  the  hall  the  audience  poured  into  the 
street  after  me,  and  I  left  Whitechapel  with 
many  hearty  invitations  to  come  back  again. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  lure  of  travel:  Its  value  as  an  education: 
A  six  months'  tour  or  six  years  at  college?:  My 
first  glimpse  of  Spain:  Tarifa:  A  Moorish  hill 
town:  The  old  fortress:  A  Spartan  father:  By 
moonlight  to  Begar:  Cleanly  Cadiz:  Madrid: 
The  usual  sight-seeing:  June  in  Norway:  Homely 
incidents:  Cold  water  is  thrown  on  Howard's 
efforts  to  explain:  Towels  at  last  are  forthcom- 
ing: The  land  of  untrodden  ways:  Trippers  in 
Switzerland:  A  walking  tour  in  the  Tyrol:  A 
peaceful  spot:  "Surely  we  must  be  very  near 
Heaven?":  "You  must  climb  higher":  I  am  mis- 
taken for  an  Archduke:  Wasted  ammunition: 
We  journey  to  the  Holy  Land:  Illness  at  Bey- 
rout:  The  last  Emperor  of  Brazil  comes  to  see 
me:  The  sight  which  gave  me  life:  "The  Stars 
and  Stripes":  Round  the  world  with  Harry  Sands: 
San  Francisco:  The  Duke  of  Atholl:  Japan:  I 
see  Fusiyama:  The  magic  of  the  East:  We  go  up- 
country:  Then  and  now:  Silent  souvenirs:  The 
fragrance  of  vanished  summers:  The  Sultan  of 
Singapore:  The  cholera  epidemic  in  Ceylon:  A 
railway  accident  near  Benares:  Bombay:  Sudden 
241 


242       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

death  of  Lady  Ferguson:  We  leave  for  Malta: 
In  quarantine  at  Suez:  From  Malta  to  Syracuse: 
A  storm:  Naples:  Back  to  Paris:  The  end  of  the 
journey 

CIRCUMSTANCES  have  fortunately  enabled  me 
to  indulge  largely  in  my  taste  for  travel,  but 
I  do  not  in  consequence  propose  to  bore  my 
readers  with  lengthy  impressions  of  the  places 
and  things  I  have  seen. 

I  think  that  travel  is  the  best  general  edu- 
cation for  any  one  desirous  of  enlarging  their 
mind,  and  I  will  go  as  far  as  to  say  that  I 
believe  a  six  months'  tour  is  worth  six  years 
spent  at  college.  Seneca  recognized  the  value 
of  travel  even  in  his  day,  for  he  wrote  with 
truth  that,  "Voyage,  travel  and  change  of 
place  impart  vigour." 

I  first  saw  Spain  thirty-five  years  ago. 
From  Gibraltar  I  went  by  boat  to  Algeciras, 
and  from  there  to  Tarifa,  which  is  a  won- 
derful old  Moorish  hill  town.  The  fortress 
was  assailed  by  the  Moors,  and  defended  by 
the  great  Guzman,  whose  son  was  taken 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       243 

prisoner.  The  enemy  threatened  to  kill  the 
youth  if  his  father  refused  to  surrender,  but 
the  answer  of  the  defender  was  to  hurl  a 
knife  from  the  ramparts  with  an  intimation 
to  the  Moors  that  they  could  carry  out  their 
threat  if  they  pleased. 

We  left  Tarifa  by  the  feeble  light  of  a 
young  moon,  and  journeyed  by  mule  cart  to 
Begar,  where  we  managed  to  get  an  hour's 
sleep  before  we  took  diligence  to  San  Fer- 
nando, which  was  the  first  town  to  succumb  to 
the  revolutionary  forces. 

We  spent  a  day  and  a  night  at  Cadiz,  the 
cleanest  town  in  a  country  not  distinguished 
for  cleanliness,  and  then  took  the  mail  train 
en  route  for  Madrid.  Here  I  saw  the  usual 
bull  fight;  I  inspected  the  masterpieces  of  the 
Spanish  painters;  I  went  through  innumer- 
able churches,  and  I  marvelled  at  the  won- 
ders of  the  Escurial.  Just  the  things  that 
others  have  done.  But  Spain  in  1875  was  a 
lawless  land,  and  after  I  had  encountered  a 
body  of  soldiers  conveying  a  large  number 


244       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

of  bandits  to  prison,  I  began  to  think  that  a 
protracted  visit  might  well  be  fraught  with 
danger,  so  we  decided  to  change  the  scene. 

My  brother  Howard  and  I  went  to  Nor- 
way, where  we  passed  one  delightful  June, 
and  there  were  various  pleasant,  homely  in- 
cidents connected  with  this  trip  that  I  like 
to  recall  when  I  am  in  a  pessimistic  mood.  I 
remember  delightful  meals  at  farmhouses, 
country  dances  in  low-roofed  kitchens  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  rushing  torrents  out- 
side, and  a  wonderful  serenade  by  twenty 
farmers'  sons. 

I  recollect  an  amusing  incident  which 
occurred  once  at  a  little  farmhouse  where 
we  had  arranged  to  spend  the  night.  My 
brother  and  I  went  into  a  room  to  wash 
our  hands  before  supper,  but  we  found 
that  towels  were  apparently  considered  su- 
perfluous. 

I  called  the  farmer's  wife,  but  as  she  was 
unable  to  speak  English,  Howard  attempted 
to  explain  our  requirements  to  her  by  a 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       245 

pantomimic  display.  The  good  woman's  face 
beamed  with  joy,  and  seizing  a  large  pail  of 
water  she  dashed  it  over  his  head,  nearly 
deluging  him;  after  this  she  apparently  real- 
ized that  it  was  necessary  to  provide  some- 
thing with  which  he  could  dry  himself,  for 
the  missing  towels  were  speedily  forthcoming. 

In  those  days  travelling  in  Norway  was  a 
journey  of  exploration  and  adventure;  there 
were  hardly  any  tourists ;  hotels  were  few  and 
far  between,  and  the  iron  of  the  railways  had 
not  then  eaten  into  the  soul  of  the  mountains. 
It  was  a  land  of  untrodden  ways,  not  like 
Switzerland,  which  has  long  been  familiar 
with  the  feet  of  the  globe-trotter,  for  even  in 
my  young  days  hotels  sat  like  vultures  on 
every  spot  which  boasted  a  view,  and  many 
a  glimpse  of  nature  had  to  be  paid  for  with 
a  franc. 

We  went  from  Sweden  to  Russia  and 
thence  to  Vienna,  where  we  took  steamer  for 
Trieste  en  route  for  Alexandria  and  the  Holy 
Land. 


246       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

This  first  visit  to  Austria  reminds  me  of  a 
later  one  when  Harry  Sands  and  I  left  Inns- 
bruck for  a  walking  tour  of  several  weeks  in 
the  Tyrol.  We  had  a  delightfully  simple 
time,  for  we  lived  at  little  inns  where  we  only 
managed  to  get  goat's  milk — cheese  and  black 
bread  for  dinner,  but  the  food  was  most  en- 
joyable after  our  hard  days'  climbing,  and 
more  often  than  not  we  made  our  beds  on 
the  straw  in  little  huts  up  in  the  mountains. 

One  day  at  sunset  we  reached  a  quaint  inn 
surrounded  by  cottages,  and  a  great  waterfall 
turned  the  wheels  which  worked  the  village 
mill.  It  was  a  peaceful  spot,  and  the  thunder 
of  the  cataract  was  the  only  sound  which 
broke  the  stillness.  After  dinner  was  over,  I 
sat  outside  and  watched  the  dying  day;  around 
me  were  the  mountains,  and  far  below  lay 
the  beautiful  valley  from  which  we  had  that 
morning  ascended  to  these  quiet  heights. 

The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  seemed  to  kiss 
the  snow  into  life;  a  faint  blush  stole  over  the 
brow  of  the  mountains,  and  a  little  icy  wind 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       247 

whispered  of  tranquil  days.  I  seemed  so  far 
from  the  world  that  I  turned  to  the  inn- 
keeper and  said  impulsively — 

"Surely  I  have  found  the  abode  of  peace; 
we  must  be  very  near  Heaven!" 

The  man  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and 
then  pointing  to  the  mountain  tops,  he  said, 
with  unconscious  cynicism — 

"Sir,  you  must  climb  higher  to  find  a  spot 
nearer 'Heaven,  for  only  two  days  ago,  in  the 
cottage  over  there,  a  lover  strangled  his 
sweetheart.  I  fear  that  we  are  very  far 
from  Paradise  here." 

After  leaving  this  scene  of  tragedy  we 
crossed  the  mountains  to  a  village  which 
boasted  of  quite  a  decent  hotel.  Here  we 
met  Mr.  James  Bryce,  until  recently  British 
Ambassador  to  America,  whose  great  book, 
The  American  Commonwealth,  is  known 
wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 

We  left  one  cold  morning  to  continue  our 
journey  through  the  valleys,  and  as  we  passed 
the  first  village  we  were  mistaken  for  an 


248       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Archduke  and  his  aide-de-camp,  who  had 
been  sent  to  inspect  the  troops  in  that  part  of 
the  country. 

We  thought  it  very  odd  to  hear  the  people 
cheering  as  we  passed,  and,  stranger  still, 
when  the  same  thing  occurred  while  we  drove 
through  another  village.  The  people  were 
shouting,  the  bells  were  ringing,  and  cannon 
boomed  to  right  and  left  of  us.  "They  take 
you  for  his  Imperial  Highness,"  remarked 
our  driver  with  a  smile. 

At  last  we  reached  a  little  town  where  we 
found  the  streets  lined  with  white-clad  chil- 
dren, and  the  mayor  waiting  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  the  representative  of  the  Emperor. 
As  we  drove  down  the  main  street  more  can- 
non bombed  more  flowers  were  thrown,  and 
many  voices  joined  in  singing  the  National 
Hymn.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  dis- 
appoint the  people,  and  although  neither 
Sands  nor  myself  possessed  the  Hapsburg 
look  or  the  Hapsburg  lip,  we  saluted  as  we 
passed,  to  the  delight  of  our  coachman,  who 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       249 

thought  the  whole  thing  was  a  very  good 
joke. 

I  often  wonder  what  sort  of  a  reception  the 
real  Archduke  received,  and  I  sincerely  hope 
that  enough  flowers  and  gunpowder  were  left 
to  make  some  kind  of  display  in  his  honour. 

Beyrout  was  the  starting-point  for  our 
travels  in  Palestine,  but  as  I  had  developed 
a  chill  and  high  fever  on  the  boat,  I  had 
barely  strength  enough,  when  we  arrived,  to 
drag  myself  to  the  little  house  which  was 
called  an  hotel. 

Howard  at  once  set  off  in  search  of  a  doc- 
tor, and  luckily  he  fell  in  with  an  English 
medical  man  who  was  staying  in  Beyrout 
with  his  family.  He  was  a  splendid  physi- 
cian, and  I  owe  my  life  to  his  constant  care, 
as  I  was  desperately  ill  for  many  weeks. 

During  this  illness  I  received  royalty  un- 
awares. The  last  Emperor  of  Brazil,  who 
was  making  a  tour  in  the  Holy  Land,  hap- 
pened to  come  to  the  "hotel,"  and  the  land- 
lord informed  him  that  I  was  lying  at  death's 


250       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

door.  Dom  Pedro  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
me,  and  I  remember  him  standing  by  my 
bed,  bidding  me  take  heart,  for  he  was  "sure 
I  was  not  going  to  die  this  time." 

I  certainly  had  a  bad  spell  of  it.  I  de- 
veloped pneumonia,  which  nearly  killed  me, 
and  for  a  day  and  a  night  I  was  practically 
given  up.  The  doctor  and  his  kind  wife 
used  to  take  turns  to  support  me  so  that  I 
could  breathe  with  greater  ease,  and  one  day, 
when  I  was  gasping  for  breath,  I  saw  some- 
thing which  made  every  nerve  in  my  ex- 
hausted body  tingle  with  emotion. 

I  could  see  the  bay  from  my  bed,  and  the 
reason  for  my  excitement  was  the  sight  of  a 
sailing  ship  which  had  just  dropped  her 
anchor.  Against  the  blue  sky  of  Palestine  I 
seemed  to  see  a  signal  of  hope,  a  message  of 
comfort,  for  the  beloved  Stars  and  Stripes  of 
my  native  land  fluttered  at  the  mast-head. 

Tears  filled  my  eyes,  and  I  had  just 
strength  enough  to  point  to  the  emblem  of 
liberty  before  I  fainted.  I  always  like  to 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       251 

think  that  it  was  the  sight  of  my  country's 
flag  which  made  me  turn  the  corner,  and 
when  I  became  sufficiently  convalescent,  I 
was  taken  on  board  a  vessel  bound  for  Naples. 

I  went  round  the  world  with  Harry  Sands, 
and  we  started  from  San  Francisco,  stopping 
at  many  places  en  route.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  charm  of  Assendy  Valley,  with  its  forests 
of  giant  trees,  and  I  have  most  happy  recol- 
lections of  a  Scotsman,  who  was  the  life  and 
soul  of  our  party,  and  who  turned  out  to  be 
the  Duke  of  Atholl. 

In  August  we  took  steamer  for  Japan,  and 
my  first  glimpse  of  Fusiyama,  silhouetted 
against  the  setting  sun,  will  never  fade  from 
my  memory,  for  I  felt  in  dreamland  when  I 
found  myself  at  last  in  the  Far  East  where 
everybody  looked  like  the  quaint  figures  met 
with  on  golden  screens. 

We  had  secured  passports  which  enabled 
us  to  go  up  country,  and,  accompanied  by  a 
clever  guide,  we  set  off  to  explore  the  in- 
terior. For  several  weeks  we  travelled  by 


252       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

jinrickshas,  and  I  shall  never  lose  the  in- 
effaceable impression  of  those  happy  months. 
The  longing  often  seizes  me  to  return  to  that 
Land  of  Romance,  but  I  think  it  is  better  not 
to  risk  the  pain  of  disillusionment,  for  Japan 
is  now  progressive,  and  I  fear  that  her  pic- 
turesque past  has  become  like  the  far  horizon. 

How  vividly  travel  is  occasionally  brought 
back  to  us!  Dried  flowers,  lying  half  for- 
gotten in  the  leaves  of  a  book,  recall  the 
fragrance  of  vanished  summers;  a  wealth  of 
delicate  colour  reminds  us  of  that  afternoon 
when  yonder  piece  of  Louis  XV  brocade 
almost  implored  us  to  rescue  it  from  the 
mean  shop  in  the  Quartier,  and  that  brass 
bowl  has  memories  of  the  days  when  it 
glowed  in  the  sunlight  at  Benares !  Yes, 
these  silent  friends  from  distant  lands  cheer 
many  a  lonely  hour,  and  though  it  may  be  a 
sentimental  fancy,  there  are  few  of  us  who  do 
not  sometimes  indulge  in  the  solace  of  pleas- 
ant remembrance. 

We  passed  from  Japan  to  Shanghai,  then 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       253 

to  Hong  Kong,  and  from  there  we  took 
steamer  for  Ceylon.  We  spent  one  day  at 
Singapore,  where  we  had  letters  to  the  Sul- 
tan, who  had  us  conducted  all  over  his  palace 
and  grounds,  and  when  we  parted  from  him 
he  gave  me  his  signed  photograph,  at  the  same 
time  expressing  a  wish  that  we  might  meet 
later  in  London. 

Our  stay  in  Ceylon  was  brief,  owing  to  the 
cholera  epidemic,  and  I  was  not  sorry  to  find 
myself  in  Madras,  where  we  spent  a  few  days 
before  sailing  to  Calcutta.  There  we  had  a 
very  pleasant  time,  but  whilst  travelling  from 
Calcutta  to  Benares  we  found  ourselves  in  all 
the  horrors  of  a  railway  accident  The  sights 
were  terrible;  forty-six  people  were  killed, 
in  addition  to  the  wounded,  and  I  seem  even 
now  to  see  the  long  lines  of  the  dead  and 
dying. 

We  rested  at  the  "Sacred  City"  after  the 
shock,  and  then  proceeded  to  Bombay,  where 
we  had  letters  of  introduction  to  the  Gov- 
ernor, Sir  John  Ferguson;  but  before  we  had 


254       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

time  to  present  them  we  heard  of  poor  Lady 
Ferguson's  painfully  sudden  death  that  day 
from  cholera.  She  had  been  taken  ill  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  buried  the 
same  evening. 

We  were  so  upset  by  this  sad  news,  that  we 
were  only  too  glad  to  leave  for  Malta.  The 
steamer  was  put  in  quarantine  at  Suez,  and 
for  the  first  time  I  realized  the  meaning  of 
the  yellow  flag,  when  I  experienced  the 
strange  feeling  of  our  isolation.  The  news- 
papers were  passed  over  the  ship's  side  in 
baskets;  all  money  was  sent  down  wrapped 
in  paper,  and  the  authorities  would  not  allow 
any  one  to  visit  us  on  board. 

We  eventually  landed  at  Malta,  where  we 
took  steamer  to  Syracuse;  from  Palermo  we 
went  on  to  Naples,  and  encountered,  in  the 
little  stretch  of  water  which  lies  between 
Syracuse  and  Palermo,  the  worst  storm  I  have 
ever  experienced.  There  were  ten  of  us  on 
the  boat,  and  the  crew  seemed  more  terror- 
stricken  than  the  passengers;  indeed,  the 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       255 

stewards  absolutely  ignored  their  duties,  and 
spent  their  time  grovelling  on  the  floor  of 
the  saloon,  beseeching  the  Virgin  to  deliver 
them.  It  was  an  unpleasant  experience,  and 
I  should  not  like  to  renew  it. 

From  Naples,  that  city  of  beauty  and  beg- 
gars, we  went  by  gradual  stages  to  Paris, 
and  my  journey  round  the  world  was  over. 
I  had  visited  many  lands;  I  had  seen  the 
various  races  of  mankind,  and  I  somehow 
felt  that  my  mind  was  broadened.  In  short, 
I  heartily  endorsed  the  dictum  that  "Young 
men  should  travel  if  but  to  amuse  them- 
selves." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

The  late  Ward  McAllister:  "The  Four  Hun- 
dred": Restful  Society:  The  old  families:  The 
Queens  of  Sheba:  The  Belmonts:  Their  house  in 
Fifth  Avenue:  The  two  Mrs.  Astors:  Mrs. 
Pierre  Lorillard:  Her  husband:  Tuxedo  Park: 
Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Cruger:  A  great-niece  of 
Washington  Irving:  "Sleepy  Hollow":  A  royal 
exile:  Years  afterwards:  A  fete  champetre:  A 
French  fancy-dress  ball  in  1828:  The  old  noblesse: 
Mr.  Montant  and  his  ancestors:  A  gentleman  of 
France:  Furniture  from  the  old  Chateau:  A  cos- 
tume ball :  Malibran  as  a  guest :  The  old  Bowling 
Green  Theatre :  Jenny  Lind :  My  friendship  with 
Madame  Nordica:  A  success  of  perseverance: 
Talents  and  temperament :  The  kindest  of  women : 
The  late  General  Grant:  His  judgment:  "Gen- 
tlemen, we  cross  the  Potomac  to-night":  Grant 
and  Lee:  A  contrast:  "Take  back  your  sword": 
Robert  Lee's  request:  A  generous  adversary:  The 
son  who  stood  upon  his  dignity:  "To  dine  and 
sleep  at  Windsor" :  The  little  table :  What  Queen 
Victoria  said:  Out-Heroding  Herod:  Old  Mr. 
Germaine:  His  hobby:  A  taste  for  saving  money: 
256 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       257 

Three  deaths:  The  callousness  of  Society:  Ward 
McAllister's  funeral:  Five  out  of  a  hundred!: 
The  last  music:  Life's  little  ironies:  Malicious 
Fate:  "Man  and  his  littleness  perish,  erased  like 
an  error  and  cancelled" 

THE  late  Ward  McAllister  was  responsible 
for  the  world-known  epithet  of  "The  Four 
Hundred,"  as  applied  to  New  York  Society, 
in  which  the  older  families  never  allowed 
the  turmoil  of  outside  life  to  enter  their  social 
scheme.  The  best  houses  were  absolutely 
restful,  and  the  present  generation  will  never 
know  the  charm  and  tranquillity  which  was 
manifest  whenever  people  like  Mrs.  Scher- 
merhorn,  Mrs.  William  Astor,  Mrs.  John 
Jacob  Astor,  Mrs.  Belmont  and  Mrs.  Paran 
Stevens  entertained  their  friends. 

I  remember  Mrs.  Paran  Stevens  once  say- 
ing to  me:  "My  dear  Mr.  Martin,  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  is  caused  in  Society  because 
every  woman  expects  to  be  treated  like  the 
one  and  only  Queen  of  Sheba.  If  people 
would  be  natural  they  would  enjoy  life  a 


258       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

thousand  times  more,  because  interest  in 
others  always  begets  sympathy." 

The  Belmonts  were  probably  the  most 
prominent  leaders  of  the  older  set,  and  Mrs. 
Belmont's  receptions  were  distinguished  by 
the  presence  of  every  one  who  was  really 
worth  knowing.  She  surrounded  herself  with 
cultivated  people,  and  the  first  thing  that 
anybody  of  note  took  care  to  do  when  they 
visited  New  York  was  to  obtain  letters  of 
introduction  to  Mrs.  Belmont 

The  mansion  in  the  Fifth  Avenue,  now 
long  since  demolished,  contained  one  of  the 
first  private  picture  galleries  of  New  York, 
and  the  entertainments  were  given  on  a  gor- 
geous scale.  Later,  however,  Mrs.  Belmont 
felt  that  her  health  would  not  support  the 
social  strain  which  she  imposed  upon  it,  and 
in  consequence  she  was  obliged  to  forego 
much  of  her  former  hospitality. 

In  my  young  days  the  Astor  Houses  were 
considered  as  being  quite  the  show-places  of 
New  York,  but  they  were  pulled  down  and 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       259 

the  great  Waldorf  Astoria  Hotel  now  occu- 
pies their  site.  Mrs.  William  Astor  lived  at 
the  corner  of  Thirty-Fourth  Street,  and  Mrs. 
John  Jacob  Astor  resided  at  the  corner  of 
Thirty-Third  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue. 

The  chief  aspiration  of  the  latter  lady  was 
a  wish  to  improve  the  standard  of  political 
life  and  to  cultivate  the  literary  element  in 
her  set.  She  is  a  brilliant  woman,  full  of 
social  and  intellectual  attainments,  and  her 
receptions  were  wonderful  gatherings,  where 
one  could  reckon  to  meet  the  celebrities  of 
the  world  of  literature  and  politics. 

Her  sister-in-law,  Mrs.  William  Astor, 
possessed  remarkable  sweetness  and  tact.  She 
loved  to  make  people  happy,  and  so  great 
was  her  personality  that  when  Mrs.  Belmont 
retired  from  the  world,  the  all-powerful 
Ward  McAllister  decided  that  Mrs.  Astor 
was  the  one  woman  to  replace  her. 

He  accordingly  made  this  known  to  So- 
ciety, and  Mrs.  William  Astor  succeeded 
Mrs.  Belmont  as  the  social  leader,  until  bad 


260       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

health  also  caused  her  in  turn  to  relinquish 
the  position  she  had  taken  up. 

I  remember  the  last  dance  given  by  Mrs. 
Pierre  Lorillard  at  her  house  in  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, and  never  did  she  look  more  beautiful. 
The  late  Lord  Dufferin,  then  Governor  of 
Canada,  was  present,  and  he  seemed  to  enter 
thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of  that  delightful 
evening.  Mr.  Pierre  Lorillard  was  the  first 
American  to  win  the  Derby,  but  the  greatest 
monument  to  his  name  exists  in  Tuxedo  Park, 
which  has  been  a  source  of  endless  joy  to  the 
many  people  who  have  been  able  to  build 
delightful  houses  around  the  lake,  where  a 
wilderness  of  uncultivated  forest  had  previ- 
ously existed. 

Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Cruger  was  a  familiar 
figure  in  New  York  Society,  and  I  always 
loved  to  talk  to  her.  She  was  the  great-niece 
of  Washington  Irving,  and  she  used  to  tell 
me  stories  about  her  uncle  and  his  charming 
home  of  "Sleepy  Hollow."  The  romantic 
ivy-covered  cottage  is  an  ideal  residence,  and 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       261 

from  the  lawns  one  gets  an  exquisite  view  of 
the  Hudson  river,  about  which  the  great 
author  was  so  fond  of  writing. 

Mrs.  Cruger  once  told  me  how  her  uncle 
sent  for  her  mother  to  come  and  help  him  to 
entertain  the  exiled  Louis  Napoleon,  who 
was  then  on  a  visit  to  America. 

A  few  days  after  the  fete  at  Sleepy  Hollow, 
Irving  said  to  his  niece,  "My  dear  girl,  when 
I  looked  at  you  wandering  about  the  grounds 
with  the  Prince,  I  could  not  help  wondering 
whether  Fate  will  ever  be  kind  to  him  and 
place  him  on  the  throne  of  France."  Mrs. 
Cruger  said  that  her  mother  was  received  at 
the  Tuileries  after  Louis  Napoleon  was  pro- 
claimed Emperor;  as  she  curtseyed  to  him 
her  mind  reverted  to  the  pretty  garden  at 
Sleepy  Hollow  where  she  had  first  made  his 
acquaintance,  and  it  was  pleasant  for  her  to 
see  that  Louis  Napoleon  had  not  forgotten  old 
times. 

Washington  Irving,  as  Minister  to  Spain, 
knew  the  Empress  Eugenie  when  she  was  a 


262       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

pretty  child,  and  the  friendship  between  them 
lasted  until  his  death. 

Mrs.  Cruger  was  a  perfect  hostess.  She 
understood  to  her  finger-tips  the  require- 
ments of  the  world  in  which  she  moved,  and 
one  of  her  entertainments  is  still  spoken  of  as 
having  been  an  exact  reproduction  of  a  real 
French  fete  champetre.  This  brings  to  my 
mind  a  story  told  me  by  my  old  friend 
Jules  Montant,  concerning  a  fancy-dress  ball 
given  in  1828  by  his  grandparents,  who  were 
among  the  earliest  French  families  to  settle 
in  America.  Mr.  Montant's  grandfather, 
Charles  de  Brugiere,  left  France  about  the 
time  of  the  Revolution.  Shortly  after  his 
arrival  in  the  New  World  he  married  Mile. 
Heloi'se  Teisseire,  and  built  a  delightful 
house  at  New  York  on  Bowling  Green  where 
the  Produce  Exchange  now  stands.  M.  de 
Brugiere's  furniture  was  sent  over  from  his 
old  home,  the  Chateau  de  Farsac,  and  he 
loved  to  surround  himself  with  souvenirs  of 
the  fair  land  he  had  left  behind. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       263 

Soon  after  their  wedding  M.  and  Mme.  de 
Brugiere  gave  a  remarkable  costume  ball,  the 
first  of  its  kind  ever  seen  in  New  York,  and 
the  majority  of  the  dresses  worn  came  from 
France.  Madame  Malibran,  who  was  sing- 
ing in  New  York,  was  among  the  guests,  and 
she  delighted  every  one  with  her  wonderful 
concerts  at  the  old  Bowling  Green  Theatre, 
where  years  after  Jenny  Lind's  flute-like  voice 
was  also  heard. 

The  mention  of  these  two  great  singers 
reminds  me  of  my  dear  friend,  Madame 
Nordica,  whose  acquaintance  I  made  at  Bay- 
reuth  when  she  sang  the  part  of  Elsa.  I 
always  thought  her  voice  lacked  an  inde- 
scribable "something,"  but  she  was  wise 
enough  to  be  taught  by  Frau  Wagner,  and 
I  honestly  believe  that  she  became  a  singer 
of  note  chiefly  through  her  dogged  per- 
severance. 

Madame  Nor'dica  was  brought  up  in  New 
England,  and  she  sprang  from  the  same  hard, 
narrow-minded  race  of  which  my  grand- 


mother  Martin  was  such  a  typical  example. 
But  her  talent  and  temperament  saved  her 
from  leading  a  small,  smothered  life,  and  her 
fame  as  a  concert-singer  paled  before  her 
later  success  as  an  operatic  star. 

After  Nordica's  first  performance  at  Bay- 
reuth,  Frau  Wagner,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
theatre,  rushed  up  to  the  singer,  and  em- 
bracing her  with  effusion,  exclaimed,  "Oh, 
madame,  if  only  my  dear  husband  had  been 
alive  to  hear  how  you  have  rendered  his 


music !" 


The  great  prima  donna  is  the  kindest  of 
women,  and  she  is  always  willing  to  sing  for 
charity.  I  remember  how  she  sang  for  me 
one  New  Year's  Eve,  and  how  kindly  she 
spoke  to  the  poor  souls  who  were  my  guests. 
Madame  Nordica  has  a  voice  and  a  heart  of 
gold,  and  her  sympathy  and  humanity  have 
always  constituted  her  greatest  charm  in  my 
eyes. 

The  late  General  Grant  was  another  friend, 
and  him  I  am  more  than  proud  to  have 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       265 

known.  I  often  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
him,  as  his  sons  studied  law  in  the  office  of 
my  sister's  husband,  and  I  well  remember 
the  impressive  scene  when  his  body  passed 
through  Albany.  The  General  was  beloved 
for  his  humanity,  and  it  is  almost  superfluous 
to  mention  his  greatness  as  a  commander. 
He  relied  absolutely  on  his  own  judgment, 
and  never  allowed  any  one  to  dissuade  him 
once  his  mind  was  made  up. 

During  the  war  a  meeting  of  generals  dis- 
cussed the  question  of  crossing  the  Potomac, 
and  all  those  present  were  strongly  opposed 
to  the  plan.  Grant  listened  to  their  argu- 
ments in  silence,  then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
said  briefly,  "Gentlemen,  we  cross  the  Poto- 
mac to-night." 

Grant's  nobility  of  character  was  shown 
when  the  Southern  commander,  Robert  Lee, 
surrendered  and  presented  himself  before  the 
General,  wearing  the  splendid  uniform  given 
him  by  the  women  of  Richmond.  He  was  a 
handsome  man,  a  typical  courtly  Southerner, 


266       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

and  his  appearance  contrasted  strangely  with 
that  of  Grant,  who  was  sitting  on  a  bench,  his 
uniform  faded  and  travel-worn,  with  even 
the  epaulettes  missing. 

Lee  stepped  forward  and  handed  his  sword 
to  the  General,  who  returned  it  with  simple 
dignity.  "I  have  but  one  request  to  make," 
said  Lee,  "will  you  allow  my  men  to  retain 
their  horses?  They  will  eventually  return  to 
their  farms,  and  without  horses  they  cannot 
resume  work." 

Grant  promised  that  his  wish  should  be 
complied  with,  and  General  Lee  always 
afterwards  spoke  in  the  highest  terms  of  his 
late  adversary. 

Alec  Yorke  told  me  a  very  good  story  about 
one  of  General  Grant's  sons  who  accompanied 
his  father  to  Windsor  when  the  late  Queen 
had  formally  commanded  him  to  dine  and 
sleep. 

General  Grant  was  honoured  by  taking 
dinner  with  the  Queen  at  a  little  table,  but 
his  son  was  told  that  he  would  have  to  dine 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       2G7 

with  the  Court  in  another  room.  There  and 
then  ensued  a  really  painful  scene,  for  the 
young  man  made  very  thoughtless  remarks 
about  the  indignity  of  feeding  with  "under- 
lings," until  at  last  the  matter  reached  the 
Queen's  ears.  "Well,  well,"  said  she,  "if  the 
young  man  really  takes  it  so  to  heart,  and 
doesn't  understand  Court  etiquette,  say  no 
more  about  it  and  put  another  plate  at  the 
small  table." 

I  often  think  that  parents  with  simple 
tastes  seem  destined  to  produce  children 
whose  airs  and  extravagances  out-Herod 
Herod.  In  this  connection  I  remember  hear- 
ing my  father  talk  about  Mr.  Germaine  of 
Albany,  who  was  a  very  rich  man  and  kept 
all  his  securities  in  my  father's  bank. 

Mr.  Germaine  was  a  typical  miser  who 
grudged  the  expenditure  of  an  extra  cent,  but 
his  children  did  not  inherit  their  parents' 
propensities,  and  this  caused  my  father  to  re- 
mark one  day  to  Mr.  Germaine  when  he 
came  to  the  bank — 


268       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"I  wonder  why  you  worry  so  much  over 
money!  Death  is  bound  to  claim  you  one 
day,  and  your  children  will  spend  everything 
you  have  saved." 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  returned  the  old 
man,  with  a  sly  chuckle;  "but  if  they  get  as 
much  happiness  out  of  spending  my  money 
as  I  have  done  out  of  saving  it,  then  I'll  be 
amply  satisfied." 

My  father  was  thunderstruck,  until  he  re- 
flected that  most  men  have  a  hobby,  and  that 
perhaps  Mr.  Germaine  really  experienced 
some  pleasure  in  playing  the  part  of  a  miser. 

I  well  remember  the  winter  which  carried 
off  three  great  leaders  of  the  social  world,  for 
Ward  McAllister,  Henry  le  Grand  Cannon 
and  Mrs.  Paran  Stevens  all  died  within  a  short 
time  of  one  another. 

What  struck  me  so  much  was  that  these 
deaths  seemed  hardly  to  leave  any  impression 
upon  Society,  although  the  dead  had  slaved 
and  devoted  themselves  for  years  to  its  serv- 
ice. Everything  went  on  as  usual;  one  heard 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       269 

at  first  the  parrot  cries  of  condolence,  the 
stereotyped  remarks  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
and  then  the  world  smiled  again. 

I  went  to  Ward  McAllister's  funeral  serv- 
ice at  Grace  Church  with  my  brother  and  his 
wife,  and  we  could  not  help  noticing  that 
there  were  only  five  representatives  of  the 
"Patriarchs"  present,  although  Ward  had 
worked  for  years  and  years  in  the  interests  of 
this  organization.  His  winter  balls  will  be 
remembered  as  being  wonderful  parties, 
where  those  present  were  solely  selected  on 
account  of  their  birth  and  position.  Each  of 
the  one  hundred  "Patriarchs"  chosen  from 
New  York  Society  subscribed  a  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  each  subscriber  was  entitled  to  send 
out  a  certain  number  of  invitations.  The 
lists  were  returned  for  McAllister's  approval, 
and  whenever  we  entertained  a  distinguished 
stranger  in  our  midst  the  burning  question 
was,  "Is  he  worthy  of  an  invitation  to  the 
Patriarchs'  ball?" 

But  if  Ward  was  a  person  to  be  placated 


270       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

during  his  lifetime,  the  Patriarchs  ignored 
him  as  a  dead  lion,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
realize  how  little  his  memory  seemed  to  be 
appreciated.  There  was  but  a  handful  of 
Society  people  present  at  the  service,  the  gen- 
eral public  had  crowded  in  out  of  curiosity, 
and  the  great  band  of  musicians  that  had 
played  at  all  Ward  McAllister's  balls  as- 
sembled for  the  last  time  at  his  funeral. 

As  I  left  the  church  I  was  struck  anew  by 
life's  ironies,  and  how  a  malicious  Fate  seems 
to  derive  pleasure  in  rending  the  mantle  of 
our  self-esteem.  She  strips  it  from  us  with 
cruel  fingers,  and  whispers  as  she  tears  away 
the  last  remnant  of  our  false  pride:  "Man 
and  his  littleness  perish,  erased  like  an  error 
and  cancelled." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

Henry  M.  Flagler:  The  maker  of  Florida:  His 
early  struggles:  His  forceful  character:  Henry  B. 
Plant:  An  unsuccessful  rival:  An  interesting  Sun- 
day: Three  great  men:  My  mission  in  the  Bow- 
ery: The  stokers'  strike:  On  board  the  Kaiser 
Wilhelm  II:  I  receive  a  note :  What  it  contained : 
The  Bowery  boys  as  stokers:  Women  who  help 
humanity:  Mrs.  William  Sloane  and  her  sisters: 
Mrs.  Stuyvesant  Fish  and  her  opinion  of  me  as  a 
speaker:  The  famous  costume  ball:  Mrs.  Bradley 
Martin's  wish  to  give  an  impetus  to  trade:  A 
storm  of  comment:  The  ball  is  denounced  from 
the  pulpit :  Threatening  letters :  We  are  burlesqued 
on  the  stage:  What  Theodore  Roosevelt  said:  A 
dream  of  loveliness:  Versailles  and  New  York: 
Wonderful  jewels:  Family  heirlooms:  A  touch  of 
barbarism:  The  altar  of  the  Golden  Calf:  The 
road  to  disillusion:  My  brother  decides  to  live  in 
London:  Lady  Craven:  Lord  Uffington  and  his 
grandmothers:  The  disadvantages  of  the  Embassy 
system:  My  tour  with  Mr.  E.  Clarence  Jones: 
Apathetic  citizens:  Archbishop  Ireland:  A  hostile 
271 


272       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

reception  at  Atlanta:  A  Baptist  deputation:  Pre- 
historic cars:  A  cloud  of  petrol:  "Is  this  a  joy 
ride?":  A  dance  at  Louisville:  The  old  Gait 
House:  Southern  belles:  A  curious  custom:  Was 
our  tour  successful?:  My  crusade  against  the  idle 
rich:  Selfish  Society:  "A  traitor  to  my  class": 
My  appreciation  of  the  American  Press:  The 
lighter  side  of  life :  The  love  of  luxury :  Unhappy 
marriages :  The  ideal  union :  The  evils  of  Platonic 
friendship:  Looking  backward:  Partings  in  our 
family:  The  graves  of  a  household:  The  memory 
of  the  beloved  dead :  My  wish 

THE  name  of  Henry  M.  Flagler  will  always 
be  indissolubly  connected  with  the  develop- 
ment of  the  East  Coast  of  Florida,  which  he 
found  a  wilderness,  and  which  he  transformed 
into  a  veritable  Garden  of  Eden. 

His  great  work  of  making  the  railway 
from  Jacksonville  to  Key  West  was  a  triumph 
of  engineering,  and  it  will  always  rank  as 
one  of  the  "constructive"  wonders  of  the 
world.  Henry  Flagler  was  born  at  Avon, 
N.  Y.,  in  1830.  His  parents  were  Scotch 
Presbyterians,  and  until  he  was  fourteen 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       273 

years  of  age  Henry  worked  in  a  little  country 
store.  He  boarded  with  his  employers,  and 
every  evening  after  the  shutters  were  up  he 
lit  his  lamp  and  studied  hard,  with  the  goal  of 
advancement  and  success  always  before  his 
tired  eyes. 

When  I  first  met  Henry  Flagler  he  was  a 
white-haired  old  man  whose  every  gesture 
and  every  word  spoke  of  tremendous  will 
power  and  force  of  character.  In  those  days 
I  had  a  nervous  habit  of  working  my  foot 
up  and  down  when  I  was  talking,  and  this 
trick  irritated  my  friend.  "Fred,"  said  he, 
"if  you  don't  stop  moving  that  foot  you'll  find 
it  will  eventually  control  your  whole  body. 
Just  you  stop  before  it  gets  the  better  of 
you." 

Henry  Flagler  was  one  of  the  world's  rich- 
est men,  and  he  never  failed  to  assist  people 
who  showed  a  disposition  to  help  themselves. 
His  great  schemes  gave  employment  to  thou- 
sands, and  his  private  and  public  charities 
were  boundless. 


274       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

One  of  the  first  things  which  he  caused  to 
be  built  in  Florida  was  a  large  cemetery. 
"What  is  to  be  the  inscription  over  the 
gates?"  I  asked. 

"Why,"  he  replied,  "surely  the  best  words 
for  such  a  place:  'That  which  is  so  universal 
as  Death  must  be  a  blessing.' ' 

I  remember  once  we  two  sat  looking  over 
the  sea  at  beautiful  Palm  Beach.  "How 
lovely  the  earth  is!"  I  exclaimed;  "I  wonder 
if  Heaven  will  be  more  beautiful  than  this 
scene." 

"Well,  Fred,"  replied  Flagler,  "I  guess 
I'll  have  no  use  for  Heaven  unless  there  are 
railways  to  be  constructed  there!"  He  cer- 
tainly possesses  a  dry  humour  peculiarly  his 
own,  and  his  retort  to  his  rival  Henry  B. 
Plant  is  quite  worth  recording. 

Henry  B.  Plant  exploited  the  West  Coast 
of  Florida  in  opposition  to  Flagler's  devel- 
opment of  the  East,  but  his  schemes  were 
unsuccessful,  and  he  was  greatly  mortified  at 
his  failure.  One  day  Plant  chanced  to  meet 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       275 

Henry  Flagler,  and  said  to  him  with  a  per- 
ceptible sneer — 

"Say,  Flagler,  where  is  that  fool  place  they 
call  Palm  Beach?" 

"Friend  Plant,"  answered  his  opponent, 
"all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  follow  the  crowd 
until  you  come  to  it." 

One  Sunday  last  Autumn  I  spent  an  inter- 
esting day  with  Mr.  Flagler,  Mr.  Archbold, 
and  Mr.  John  Rockefeller.  I  met  Mr. 
Archbold  for  the  first  time,  and  was  very 
pleasantly  surprised,  for  the  general  idea  is 
that  he  possesses  a  hard  and  unsympathetic 
personality.  Instead  of  this,  I  met  a  most 
agreeable  old  man  who  listened  to  my  stories 
about  my  work  in  the  Bowery,  and  who  prac- 
tically repeated  Mayor  Gaynor's  question— 

"Are  you  not  afraid  to  go  about  as  you 
do?" 

And  to  both  questioners  I  gave  the  same 
answer — 

"I'm  never  afraid  of  the  poor  or  of  broken 


men." 


276       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

I  think  that  I  owe  an  enormous  debt  of 
moral  gratitude  to  Henry  Flagler,  for  his 
example  has  enabled  me  to  support  life's 
troubles  with  more  patience  than  is  in  my 
nature,  and  he  has  done  much  to  help  me  to 
fight  the  hard  battle  of  self-control. 

The  mention  of  my  mission  reminds  me  of 
an  incident  which  took  place  shortly  after  the 
appalling  loss  of  the  Titanic.  I  was  on  the 
eve  of  leaving  for  England,  and  a  few  days 
before  my  departure  I  addressed  a  meeting 
of  the  respectable  unemployed  down  the 
Bowery.  The  audience  were  quite  different 
from  the  loafer  class,  and  I  urged  them  to 
accept  work,  no  matter  how  hard  or  repug- 
nant it  might  be.  "Work,  boys,"  I  said,  "go 
away  from  here  with  the  determination  to 
fight,  and  I  feel  sure  that  you'll  win  through." 

The  next  morning  the  papers  were  full  of 
the  stokers'  strike  on  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II, 
the  very  boat  on  which  I  had  booked  my 
passage,  and  when  we  were  well  out,  every 
one  wondered  whether  the  inexperienced  sub- 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       277 

stitutes,  who  had  replaced  the  stokers,  would 
work  well  enough  to  keep  the  vessel  up  to 
time. 

One  afternoon  I  was  handed  a  note,  which 
I  opened  and  read  with  indescribable  sur- 
prise. It  ran — 

"MR.  MARTIN, 

"Forty  of  the  boys  are  acting  as  stokers 
on  this  boat.  You  told  us  to  take  any  kind  of 
work  the  other  night,  and  we've  just  done 
what  you  said." 

I  was  overjoyed  to  find  that  my  words  had 
found  a  response,  and,  when  I  told  the  Cap- 
tain what  had  occurred,  he  very  kindly  al- 
lowed me  to  interview  the  amateur  stokers. 

They  came  and  stood  before  me  in  a  grimy 
group,  but  their  bearing  was  that  of  workers, 
and  as  such  I  welcomed  them,  saying— 

"This  is  fine  of  you,  but  is  it  very  hard?" 

For  answer  I  saw  a  row  of  palms  extended, 
which  were  blackened,  blistered  and  raw. 

"I   guess   it  is  somewhat,"   said   a  young 


278       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

farmer  from  Virginia,  who  was  the  spokes- 
man of  the  party. 

A  rush  of  emotion  kept  me  silent  for  a 
few  seconds,  and  then  I  cried — 

"Boys,  let  me  shake  hands  with  you  all.  I'd 
feel  more  proud  of  that  than  to  get  the  hand- 
shake of  an  Emperor." 

Women  can  help  to  alleviate  suffering  bet- 
ter than  men,  and  numerous  are  the  charitable 
acts  which  Mrs.  William  Sloane  and  her  sis- 
ters perform.  These  ladies,  no  matter  what 
hours  they  keep  or  how  late  they  entertain, 
are  always  ready  to  commence  their  day's  la- 
bours in  the  field  of  good  works,  and  they 
devote  much  money  and  a  great  deal  of  time 
to  the  good  of  their  fellow-citizens. 

Commodore  Gerry  has  done  noble  work  in 
founding  the  Gerry  Society,  which  protects 
poor  children  from  cruelty  and  bad  treatment. 
The  accomplishment  of  this,  and  his  success 
in  getting  similar  laws  passed  through  the 
State  of  New  York,  will  be  his  most  enduring 
memorial. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       279 

I  will  not  take  up  the  time  of  my  readers 
by  dwelling  on  my  own  hobbies  in  that  direc- 
tion, for  I  have  not  written  these  Recollec- 
tions as  a  peg  upon  which  to  hang  my  par- 
ticular theories,  and  in  this  connection  I  shall 
never  forget  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Stuyvesant 
Fish  upon  my  powers  as  a  speaker  in  the 
cause  of  philanthropy. 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self to-day,  Fred  Martin?"  she  asked  one 
evening  at  dinner. 

"Oh,"  I  replied,  "I've  been  addressing  the 
inmates  of  the  asylum  for  the  blind;  I  spoke 
for  over  an  hour,  and  at  the  conclusion  I 
asked  my  audience  which  they  would  prefer 
to  be — deaf  or  blind." 

"Well,  and  the  verdict?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Fish. 

"They  were  unanimous  in  deciding  in  fa- 
vour of  blindness." 

"What!  after  hearing  you  talk  for  an 
hour?"  cried  my  fair  friend. 


280       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

So,  after  this,  I  will  leave  charity  and  re- 
turn to  other  topics. 

Every  year  my  brother  Bradley  and  his 
wife  spent  their  winters  in  New  York,  when 
they  entertained  largely.  One  morning  at 
breakfast  my  brother  remarked — 

"I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  we 
got  up  something;  there  seems  to  be  a  great 
deal  of  depression  in  trade;  suppose  we  send 
out  invitations  for  a  concert." 

"And  pray,  what  good  will  that  do?"  asked 
my  sister-in-law,  "the  money  will  only  benefit 
foreigners.  No,  I've  a  far  better  idea;  let  us 
give  a  costume  ball  at  so  short  notice  that  our 
guests  won't  have  time  to  get  their  dresses 
from  Paris.  That  will  give  an  impetus  to 
trade  that  nothing  else  will." 

Directly  Mrs.  Martin's  plan  became  known, 
there  was  a  regular  storm  of  comment,  which 
arose  in  the  first  instance  from  the  remarks 
made  by  a  clergyman  who  denounced  the 
costume  ball  from  the  pulpit. 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       281 

"Yes,"  he  raged,  "you  rich  people  put  next 
to  nothing  in  the  collection  plate,  and  yet 
you'll  spend  thousands  of  dollars  on  Mrs. 
Bradley  Martin's  ball." 

The  newspapers  then  took  up  the  subject, 
and  we  were  besieged  by  reporters,  but  my 
brother  and  his  wife  invariably  refused  to 
discuss  the  matter.  Threatening  letters  ar- 
rived by  every  post,  debating  societies  dis- 
cussed our  extravagance,  and  last,  but  not 
least,  we  were  burlesqued  unmercifully  on 
the  stage. 

I  was  highly  indignant  about  my  sister-in- 
law  being  so  cruelly  attacked,  seeing  that  her 
object  in  giving  the  ball  was  to  stimulate 
trade,  and,  indeed,  she  was  perfectly  right, 
for,  owing  to  the  short  notice,  many  New 
York  shops  sold  out  brocades  and  silks  which 
had  been  lying  in  their  stock-rooms  for 
years. 

The  ball  was  fixed  for  February  10,  1897, 
and  a  day  or  two  before  Mrs.  Martin  met 


282       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

Theodore  Roosevelt  in  the  street.  "I'm  very 
pleased  that  you  and  Mrs.  Roosevelt  are  com- 
ing to  the  ball,"  she  said. 

"Oh,"  he  replied,  "my  wife's  going  because 
she's  got  her  costume,  but,  as  one  of  the  com- 
missioners, I  shall  be  outside  looking  after 
the  police!" 

I  think  every  one  anticipated  a  disturbance, 
but  nothing  of  the  kind  took  place,  and  the 
evening  passed  without  any  untoward  in- 
cident. 

The  best  way  I  can  describe  what  is  always 
known  as  the  "Bradley  Martin  Ball,"  is  to 
say  that  it  reproduced  the  splendour  of  Ver- 
sailles in  New  York,  and  I  doubt  if  even  the 
Roi  Soleil  himself  ever  witnessed  a  more 
dazzling  sight.  The  interior  of  the  Waldorf- 
Astoria  Hotel  was  transformed  into  a  replica 
of  Versailles,  and  rare  tapestries,  beautiful 
flowers  and  countless  lights  made  an  effective 
background  for  the  wonderful  gowns  and 
their  wearers.  I  do  not  think  there  has  ever 
been  a  greater  display  of  jewels  before  or 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       283 

since;  in  many  cases  the  diamond  buttons 
worn  by  the  men  represented  thousands  of 
dollars,  and  the  value  of  the  historic  gems 
worn  by  the  ladies  baffles  description. 

My  sister-in-law  personated  Mary  Stuart, 
and  her  gold  embroidered  gown  was  trimmed 
with  pearls  and  precious  stones.  Bradley,  as 
Louis  XV,  wore  a  Court  suit  of  brocade,  and 
I  represented  a  gentleman  of  the  period.  The 
whole  thing  appealed  most  strongly  to  my 
imagination,  and  my  mind  constantly  re- 
verted to  the  friend  of  my  childhood,  the  dear 
grandmother  who  would  have  been  so  keenly 
interested  in  it  all.  I  remember  that  Mrs. 
James  Beekman,  as  Lady  Teazle,  wore  a 
lovely  dress,  which  formerly  belonged  to  an 
ancestress,  and  Mrs.  Henry  Burnet's  satin 
petticoat  was  another  family  heirloom  which 
left  the  scented  seclusion  of  a  cedar-wood 
chest  for  this  interesting  occasion. 

Anne   Morgan   lent   a   touch   of   barbaric 

colour  with  her  wonderful  Pocahontas  cos- 

i 

tume  which  had  been  made  by  Indians,  and 


284       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

the  suit  of  gold  inlaid  armour  worn  by  Mr. 
Belmont  was  valued  at  ten  thousand  dollars. 
The  power  of  wealth  with  its  refinement  and 
vulgarity  was  everywhere.  It  gleamed  from 
countless  jewels,  and  it  was  proclaimed  by 
the  thousands  of  orchids  and  roses,  whose 
fragrance  that  night  was  like  incense  burnt 
on  the  altar  of  the  Golden  Calf. 

I  cannot  conceive  why  this  entertainment 
should  have  been  condemned.  We  Americans 
are  so  accustomed  to  display  that  I  should 
have  thought  the  ball  would  not  have  been 
regarded  as  anything  very  unusual.  Every 
one  said  it  was  the  most  brilliant  function  of 
the  kind  ever  seen  in  America,  and  it  cer- 
tainly was  the  most  talked  about. 

After  the  ball  the  authorities  promptly 
raised  my  brother's  taxes  quite  out  of  propor- 
tion to  those  paid  by  any  one  else,  and  the 
matter  was  only  settled  after  a  very  acrimoni- 
ous dispute.  Bradley  and  his  wife  resented 
intensely  the  annoyance  to  which  they  had 
been  subjected,  and  they  decided  to  sell  their 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       285 

house  in  New  York  and  buy  a  residence  in 
London. 

Four  years  previously  their  only  daughter, 
Cornelia,  had  married  Lord  Craven,  and  my 
brother  felt  that  the  family  affections  were 
now  implanted  in  the  Old  World.  His 
grandson,  who  was  born  in  the  year  of  the 
famous  ball,  was  such  a  source  of  pride  to  us 
all  that  I  believe  the  advent  of  the  boy  finally 
decided  the  Bradley  Martins  about  leaving 
New  York. 

Lord  Uffington  possessed  the  distinction  of 
having  two  grandmothers  and  three  great- 
grandmothers  at  his  christening.  I  was 
romantic  enough  to  speculate  whether  the 
spirits  of  gentle  Mrs.  Townshend  and  stern 
Mrs.  Martin  were  in  the  wonderful  Adams 
Chapel  at  Coombe,  and  I  smiled  as  I  won- 
dered what  Mrs.  Martin  would  have  thought 
of  it  all  had  she  been  present  in  the  flesh. 

In  the  winter  of  1909  I  became  engaged  in 
furthering  an  object  in  which  I  was  particu- 
larly interested.  The  disadvantages  of  our 


286       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

embassy  system  have  always  struck  me  most 
forcibly,  and  it  seems  scandalous  that,  with 
the  exception  of  Constantinople,  there  should 
be  no  permanent  residences  for  the  American 
Ambassadors  in  the  various  capitals  in  the 
world.  The  representatives  of  America  are 
not  always  rich  men,  and  the  rent  of  a  house 
suitable  for  their  position  must  be  a  severe 
financial  strain. 

Mr.  E.  Clarence  Jones  and  I,  therefore, 
arranged  to  tour  the  principal  cities  with  the 
object  of  persuading  prominent  public  men  to 
influence  their  representatives  in  Congress  to 
favour  a  Bill  for  the  appropriation  of  funds 
to  purchase  embassies. 

We  had  a  most  interesting  time,  and, 
although  certain  apathetic  citizens  did  not 
appear  to  have  any  sympathy  with  the  plight 
of  their  homeless  Ambassadors,  I  shall  always 
recall  with  gratitude  the  kindness  shown  me, 
particularly  at  St.  Paul's,  Minnesota,  by  Arch- 
bishop Ireland.  The  Archbishop  possesses 
tremendous  influence,  and  as  I  was  very 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       287 

anxious  to  meet  him  I  did  not  mind  the 
thirty-mile  sleigh  ride  to  the  place  where  he 
resided.  The  door  of  his  house  was  opened 
by  a  typical  Irish  maidservant,  and  I  was 
shown  into  the  presence  of  the  little  old  man 
who  controls  the  vote.  He  listened  to  my 
views  with  extreme  attention,  and  then  held 
up  his  hand,  saying,  "My  son,  I  will  meet 
you  in  every  way." 

At  Atlanta,  Georgia,  a  prominent  patent 
medicine  manufacturer  tried  to  spoil  our 
meeting  out  of  pique  by  running  an  opposi- 
tion show  of  his  own,  at  which  Mr.  O'Brien 
spoke  and  then  afterwards  came  on  to  ad- 
dress our  audience,  much  to  the  anger  of  the 
pill-man.  At  Savannah  we  were  met  by  a 
Baptist  deputation,  and  escorted  to  breakfast 
on  the  beach  in  prehistoric  motor-cars.  As 
we  bumped  over  the  stony  roads,  occasionally 
stopping  for  lengthy  repairs  and  led,  not  by  a 
pillar  of  fire,  but  by  a  dense  cloud  of  petrol 
fumes,  a  cheerful  Baptist  turned  to  me,  and 
said — 


288       THINGS    I    REMEMBER 

"Say,  Mr.  Martin,  is  this  what  you  New 
Yorkers  call  a  joy  ride?" 

I  assured  him  that  such  was  not  the  case, 
and  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  word 
"joy"  being  mentioned  in  connection  with  this 
malodorous  motor  run.  It  was  then  8  a.m.; 
a  cold  wind  swept  the  beach,  I  was  unshaven 
and  hungry,  and  hoped  that  baptism  by  im- 
mersion would  not  form  part  of  the  morn- 
ing's programme. 

We  had  a  delightful  dance  at  Louisville, 
which  completely  did  away  with  the  mem- 
ories of  the  horrible  "joy  ride,"  for  Colonel 
Dupont,  the  owner  of  the  old  Gait  House, 
came  back  to  it  and  gave  a  dance  in  our 
honour. 

I  never  saw  so  many  typical  Southern 
beauties  as  on  this  occasion,  and  I  made 
acquaintance  with  the  amusing  custom, 
"down  South,"  which  prevents  a  man  from 
monopolizing  a  pretty  partner. 

Directly  he  feels  a  tap  on  his  shoulder  he 
must  relinquish  the  lady,  and  the  fun  of  the 


THINGS    I    REMEMBER       289 

evening  consists  in  dodging  the  taps  so  as  to 
keep  the  coveted  belle  as  long  as  he  can. 

It  was  an  animated  pretty  scene,  rem- 
iniscent of  the  days  before  the  war,  and 
although  the  Gait  House  was  a  bare  and 
hideous  building,  what  it  lacked  in  beauty 
was  amply  atoned  for  by  the  presence  of  the 
lovely  girls  who  danced  the  happy  hours 
away. 

Our  tour  was  productive  of  some  result, 
for  a  small  appropriation  now  exists  to  re- 
lieve any  financial  strain,  and  my  friend  Mr. 
E.  Clarence  Jones,  with  his  usual  generosity, 
took  upon  his  shoulders  the  entire  financial 
burden  of  managing  the  Embassy  Associa- 
tion, which  was  formed  in  connection  with 
our  scheme. 

I  do  not  propose  to  dwell  at  any  length  on 
the  circumstances  which  led  up  to  my  crusade 
against  the  idle  rich.  I  simply  felt  I  must  let 
a  certain  selfish  section  of  Society  know  that 
the  wealth  which  they  had  inherited  could 
open  the  gates  of  untold  pleasure  for  others. 


290       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

I  unhesitatingly  became,  as  it  were,  a  traitor 
to  my  own  class,  and  ranged  myself  on  the 
side  of  the  poor. 

I  have  not  regretted  my  attitude,  although 
I  must  confess  that  at  first  it  required  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  consideration  to  act  as  I  did. 
The  day  for  making  great  fortunes  is  nearly 
over — never  to  return;  the  people  will  not 
in  future  allow  wealth  to  be  accumulated  by 
the  few,  and  they  will  insist  upon  the  rich 
bearing  in  far  greater  proportion  the  burden 
of  the  poor. 

I  have  always  been  nobly  seconded  by  the 
American  Press  in  my  charitable  schemes, 
and  I  tender,  through  this  medium,  my 
grateful  thanks  to  the  great  newspapers  who 
have  helped  me  so  cordially,  for  I  can  never 
forget  the  reply  of  the  late  Bishop  Potter  to 
my  question,  "What  has  been  the  hardest 
thing  in  your  career?" 

"Begging  for  money,"  he  answered. 

I  manage  to  see  a  good  deal  of  the  lighter 
side  of  life.  I  have  witnessed  the  great 


THINGS    I   REMEMBER       291 

changes  which  have  swept  over  Society,  and 
I  am  forced  to  think  that  living  becomes 
more  and  more  expensive  as  time  goes  on. 
Extravagance  in  dress  is  more  marked  year 
by  year,  and  I  think  that  the  love  of  luxury 
is  the  cause  of  so  many  unhappy  homes,  for 
it  seems  to  me  that  nine  out  of  ten  marriages 
are  failures. 

The  ideal  union  is  a  true  friendship  be- 
tween husband  and  wife,  but  it  rarely,  if 
ever,  exists,  for  man  is  a  cautious  being,  and 
a  woman  never  allows  another  than  herself 
to  enter  the  secret  places  of  her  soul. 

Platonic  friendship  is  responsible  for  un- 
told mischief,  because  it  pretends  to  be  so 
safe.  It  never  really  becomes  harmless  until 
either  party  has  realized  its  danger  and 
knows  how  to  resist  its  specious  allurements. 

Passion  burns  out,  and  love  so-called 
withers  in  the  cold  winds  of  the  world.  I 
only  give  any  House  of  Passionate  Love  a 
life  of  five  years,  unless  its  foundations  rest 
on  the  rock  of  respect. 


292       THINGS    I   REMEMBER 

Matrimony  is  an  uphill  road,  and  if  either 
husband  or  wife  attempts  to  push  their  re- 
sponsibilities to  one  side  the  result  will  in- 
evitably be  disastrous  for  both. 

Looking  backward  at  a  very  happy  life  I 
feel  I  have  much  to  be  grateful  for.  There 
have  been  partings  in  my  family,  and  my 
brother  Howard  and  I  represent  the  last  of 
that  happy  band  of  children  who  played  in 
the  old  house  at  Albany.  But  the  memory 
of  my  beloved  dead  is  ever  present,  and  I 
look  forward  to  a  day  when  we  shall  be 
reunited. 

As  for  myself,  "I  expect  to  pass  through 
this  world  but  once.  Any  good,  therefore, 
that  I  can  do,  or  any  kindness  that  I  can  show 
to  any  fellow  creature,  let  me  do  it  now.  Let 
me  not  defer  or  neglect  it,  for  I  shall  not 
pass  this  way  again." 

THE  END 


INDEX 


Albany,  28,  31,  32,  33,  39,  57, 
58,  62,  64,  72,  81,  88,  89,  113, 
265 

Albany,  Duke  of,  226 

Algeciras,  242 

Allsop,  Henry,  232,  233 

Antonelli,  Cardinal,  144,  145 

Archbold,  Mr.,  275 

Arnold,  Benedict,  38,  39 

Ascot,  201 

Astor,  Mrs.  John  Jacob,  257, 

Astor,  William,  217 
Astor,  Mrs.  William,  257,  259 
Atholl,  Duke  of,  251 
Ayers,  Mrs.,  117-121,  227 

B 

Baden-Baden,  183 
Balmacaan,  198,  227,  232-238 
Barrie,  Sir  James,  238 
Beaufort  Castle,  235 
Beckwith,  Miss,  209,  215 
Beekman,  Mrs.  James,  283 
Bell,  Mrs.  Isaac,  216 
Belmont,  August,  93,  94,  284 
Belmont,  Mrs.,  257-259 
Benares,  252,  253 
Berens,  Miss,  180 
Berkeley  Castle,  189 
Beyrout,  249 
Bombay,  253 
Bonnat,  123 

"Boston"  (the  dance),  177 
Brougham,  Lord,  237 
Brown-Potter,    Mr.   and   Mrs. 
James,  176 


293 


Bryce,  James,  247 
Burden,  James,  79 
Burnet,  Mrs.  Henry,  283 
Burton,  Lord  and   Lady,  229, 

236 
Butler,  Lady  Arthur,  217 


Cadiz,  243 

Cairns,  Lady,  181 

Cairns,  Lord,  180 

Calcutta,  253 

Cameron,  John,  63,  64 

Campbell,  Mrs.,  143,  179 

Carr,  Maj.-Gen.,  89 

Cawdor,  202-204 

Cawdor,  Dowager  Lady,  202, 
204 

Ceylon,  253 

Chamberlain,  Miss  (after- 
wards Lady  Naylor-Ley- 
land),  216,  217 

Chaulne,  Duchesse  de,  142. 

Choate,  Mr.,  231 

Clarendon,  Lady,  188 

Clayton,  Sir  Oscar,  172,  173 

Constantinople,  286 

Coombe  Abbey,  196,  285 

Cowes,  169,  173,  176-178,  243 

Craven,  Countess,  196,  218,  285 

Craven,  Earl  of,  196,  218,  285 

Crawford,  F.  Marion,  151 

Cruger,  Mrs.  van  Rensselaer, 
260-262 

Cunard,  Sir  Bache,  188 

Curzon,  Lady  (formerly  Miss 
Mary  Leiter),  209,  223 

Cushman,  Charlotte,  86-88 


294 


INDEX 


D 

Dalison,  Charles,  228-230 

Davies,  Julian  Tappin,  72 

De  Haville,  26 

Devonshire,  Louise  Duchess 
of,  78,  200 

"Double  Duchess,"  see  Devon- 
shire, Louise,  Duchess  of 

Dufferin,  Lord,  260 

Dupont,  Colonel,  288 

Duran,  Carolus,  123 


Eames,   Madame,   121,    122 

Edinburgh,  Duke  and  Duchess 
of,  101,  102 

Edward  VII,  76,  103,  115,  138, 
157-161,  169-171,  173,  174, 
213,  214,  217,  219,  236,  237 

Endicott,  Miss,  209 


Grant,  Miss  Adele  (Lady  Es- 
sex), 180 

Grant,  General,  90,  264-266 
Gray,  George  Griswold,  80,  97 
Gray,   Mrs.    George  Griswold, 

96,  223 
Grinnell,  Mrs.,  76 

H 

Hagerman,  Mons.,  86 
Holland,  Lord  and  Lady,  192 
Howe,  Mrs.  Julia  Ward,  93,  94 
Hudson  River,  36-38,  72,  261 
Hugo,  Victor,  136-139 


Ilchester,  Lord,  193 
Ireland,  Archbishop,  286 
Irvin,  Misses,  79,  96 
Irving,  Sir  Henry,  237 


Fenton,  Governor  Reuben,  70 
Ferguson,  Lady,  254 
Ferguson,  Sir  John,  253 
Fish,  Mrs.  Stuyvesant,  205,  279 
Fitzhardinge,  Lord,  189,  190 
Flagler,  Henry,  272-276 
Fuller,  Loie,  134 


Galway,  Lady,  190,  191 
Garcia    (the   great   gambler), 

182 

Garden,  Mary,  128,  129 
George  III.,  42 
George  V.,  73,  103,  204 
Gillett,  William,  226-228 
Gladstone,  W.  E.,  162-164 
Glenguoich,  236 
Goelet,  Miss  May  (afterwards 

Duchess  of  Roxburgh),  218 
Goodrich,  Mr.,  133 


Jackson,  Isaac,  58 

James,  General  Howard,  66 

James,  Mrs.,  67 

Japan,  251 

Jerome,  Leonard,  79 

Jerome,  Miss,  209 

Jones,  E.  Clarence,  286,  289 

K 

Keene,  James  R.,  201 
Keppel,  Mrs.  George,  217 
King,  Miss,  222 ;  see  also  Wad- 

dington,  Madame 
Kuhn,  Mrs.  Charles,  93 


Lakefield,  233 

Lampson,    Miss     (later    Lady 

Drummond),  99 
Leigh,  Hon.  Dudley,  215 
Leiter,  Miss  Daisy,  223 


INDEX 


295 


Leiter,  Miss  Mary,  209,  223 
Lennox,  Lord  Henry  Gordon, 

Leo  XIII,  144-147 

Lewis,  Mr.,  237 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  90 

Lincoln,  Mr.  (American  Min- 
ister in  London),  198 

Livermore,  Mrs.,  120 

Lloyd,  Lady  Mary,  196 

Lorillard,  Mrs.  Pierre,  260 

Louisville,  288 

Lovat,  Dowager  Lady,  236 

Lovat,  Lord,  235 

Lowther,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
liam, 156,  193 

Lumley,  Augustus,  226 


M 

McAllister,  Mathew  Hall,  73 
McAllister,    Ward,    72-74,    99, 

257,  259,  268-270 
McCormick,     Mr.     and     Mrs., 

133 

Mackay,  Mrs.  John,  176,  177 
Mackintosh,  The,  204 
MacVeagh,    Mr.    Wayne    (the 

American     Ambassador     at 

Rome),  148 
Madras,  253 
Madrid,  243 
Malmaison,  111 
Malta,  254 
Manchester,  Consuelo  Duchess 

of,  160,  219,  220 
Manchester,  Duke  of,  220 
Manchester,    Louise,    Duchess 

of,  200 

Margherita,  Queen,  148,  149 
Marie,  Mr.  Peter,  98,  99 
Martin,  Alice,  33 
Martin,  Anna,  32 
Martin,  Bradley,  68,  70-72,  199, 

215,  231-233,  238,  280-285 
Martin,  Mrs.  Bradley,  197-199, 

231,  280-285;  see  also  Sher- 
man, Miss  Cornelia 


Martin,  Harriet,  33 
Martin,  Henry,  33 
Martin,  Henry  Hull,  29-31,  49, 

50,  80-84 
Martin,  Mrs.  Henry  Hull;  see 

Townshend,  Anne 
Martin,  Howard,  33,  101,  105, 

145,  244 
Martin,  Mrs.  (grandmother  of 

the  author),  44-47 
Massenet,  128 
Mayflower,  The,  26 
May,  Fred,  213 
Melba,  Madame,  128-131 
Merode,  Cleo  de,  140,  141 
Monaco,  Prince  of,   183 
Montant,  Jules,  262 
Moore,  Mrs.  William,  114-116 
Moore,  William,  114 
Morgan,  Anne,  283 
Morgan,  J.  Pierpont,  143 
Moulton,  Mrs.,  84-86 
Moy,  204 

N 

Naples,  254 

Naylor-Leyland,    Sir   Herbert, 

217 

New  Amsterdam,  27 
Newport,  92,  96,  98-100 
New  York,  36,  55-57,  80,  131, 

280-284 

Nordica,  Madame,  263 
Norway,  244,  245 


O 

Oyster  Bay,  27,  28 


Paget,  Lady,  209,  213,  214,  217 

Palermo,  254 

Palm  Beach,  Florida,  130,  274 

Paris,  95,  111-143 

Pearl,  Cora,  113 


296 


INDEX 


Pedro,  Dom  (Emperor  of  Bra- 
zil), 249 

Pell,  Mrs.  Stephen,  121 
Pius  IX,  144,  145 
Pius  X,  144,  148 
Porter,  General,  133 
Potomac,  224,  225 
Prince  Imperial,  106-8 


R 

Raynham,  26 

Reed,  Miss  Fanny,  92-93,  118, 

127-128,  150 

Reid,  Mrs.  Whitelaw,  132,  230 
Ristori,  Madame,  150,  151 
Robinson,  Miss  Kate,  84 
Rochester,  Mrs.,  32 
Rockefeller,  John,  275 
Rodin,  Auguste,  123 
Ronalds,  Mrs.  Peter  Lorillard, 

77-79,  220,  221 
Rothschild,   Baron  Ferdinand, 

158,  161 

Rothschild,  Miss  Alice  de,  160 
Rothschild,  Miss  Annie  de,  162 


Sagan,  Princess  de,  120 
Sands,  Harry,  157,  189,  190 
Sands,  Mahlon,  156,  157,  165, 

166,  188 
Sands,  Mrs.  Mahlon,  157-159, 

165-167,  188 
San  Fernando,  243 
San  Francisco,  251 
Sargent,  John  Singer,  122 
Saunderson,  Sybil,  128,  129 
Schermerhorn,  Mrs.,  257 
Schurz,  Karl,  83 
Seafield,  Lady,  234,  237 
Seafield,  Lord,  232 
Sears,  Mrs.,  133 
Selliere,  Baronne  de  la,  120 
Shanghai,  252 
Sheppard,  Elliot,  70 


Sheridan,  General,  88,  89 

Sherman,  Miss  Cornelia,  70- 
72;  see  also  Martin,  Mrs. 
Bradley 

Shonts,  Mr.,  143 

Singapore,  253 

Sorchams,  Madame  de,  122 

Stern,  Viscount  de  (after- 
wards Lord  Wandsworth), 
170-175 

Stevens,  Miss  Minnie,  209,  213, 
214;  see  also  Paget,  Lady 

Stevens,  Mrs.  Paran,  92,  95, 
96,  257,  268 

Stuyvesant,  Peter,  27 

Suez  254 

Suffield,  Lord,  174,  177 

Suffolk,  Lord,  223 

Sullivan,  Sir  Arthur,  220 

Swansea,  Lady,  195 

Swansea,  Lord,  193,  195 

Syracuse,  254 


Tarifa,  242 
Terry,  Ellen,  237 
Terry,  Kate,  237 
Terry,  Marion,  238 
Townsend,  Dr.  and  Mrs.,  64-66 
Townsend,  Franklin,  62-64 
Townsend,     Frederick,     52-55, 

59-62 

Townsend,  Mrs.  Solomon,  40 
Townshend,  Anne  (afterwards 

Mrs.    Henry   Hull   Martin), 

29,  31,  32,  50-51,  68 
Townshend,    Hannah,   28,   33- 

38,  46,  51,  103 
Townshend,  Henry,  26-28,  31, 

38 

Townshend,  Horatio,  26 
Townshend,  Isaiah,  31,  38,  63 
Townshend,  John,  26,  27 
Townshend,  Richard,  26,  27 
Townshend,  Roger,  26 
Tranby  Croft,  196 
Travers,  Mr.,  95 


INDEX 


297 


Troup,    Governor    (State    of 

N.  Y.),  31 
Tuxedo  Park,  260 
Tyrol,  246 

U 

Uffington,  Lord,  285 
V 

Vanderbilt,  Miss,  218 

Vanderbilt,  W.  K.,  235 

Victoria,  Queen,  102,  103,  170- 
172 

Vivian,  Sir  Hussey  (after- 
wards Lord  Swansea),  194 


W 

Waddington,  Madame,  222 
White,   Mr.   and  Mrs.   Henry, 

132,  158 

Whitechapel,  239 
Williams,  Mr*.  Hwfa,  218 
Wilson,  Mrs.  Arthur,  1% 


Yorke,  Alec.,  170-172,  266 
Yorke,  Eliot,  162 
Young  Men's  Association,  81, 
83-87 


000  421  877 


